


Jaebum in Havana

by peachpunch



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blow Jobs, Jaebum is in the mafia, M/M, Mafia AU, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-04-18 01:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpunch/pseuds/peachpunch
Summary: Jaebum takes Jinyoung to Havana for their anniversary and things go awry.





	1. Chapter 1

After a year of dating, there are a few things Jinyoung has learned about Jaebum.

He knows that Jaebum keeps a gun with him at all times. It comes up on their first date when he wraps an arm around Jinyoung’s shoulder and their hips collide -- he feels the outline of the gun and its heavy, looming shape. When he looks down, it seems to suck up all the light of the room. His breath catches in his throat, his eyes widen, and when he looks up, Jaebum is smiling. 

“Just to be safe,” he tells him. 

He doesn’t remove it, doesn’t adjust it, lets it hang there for the remainder of their time together. He’s taken Jinyoung on a yacht and there is no reason for complaint. There is no space to worry, either, since Jaebum dotes on him the entire time. And later when Jaebum is pressed against the railing of the boat, his short fingers gripping on the metal, Jinyoung, who by now is on his knees, mouth full of Jaebum’s cock, lets his fingers graze over the gun from where it peeks out of the puddle of fabric at Jaebum’s ankles. 

He imagines what it would be like to have it pressed against his forehead, his cheek maybe. Cold, smooth metal on warm skin. He imagines that Jaebum, in desperation, might point it between his eyes and say, “Suck.” He imagines that he’d have to give the best blowjob he’s ever given to stay alive, to keep Jaebum tame, to keep him sane. The thought excites him, and the more his fingers trace the mouth of the gun, the more electric their encounter becomes. He makes it a point to suck deeper, with more force, though louder. He makes it a point to let saliva drip from his lips, to pull away and breathe and so strands of cum stretch and thin from the head of Jaebum’s cock to Jinyoung’s swollen lips. He makes it a point to look up, to lean forward and lap lazily at the head so Jaebum opens his eyes and looks down. 

Their gazes clash and Jinyoung thinks about the gun, how quickly this entire night could go wrong. He remembers the command he’s imagined:  _ Suck. _ He leans forward again and ignores Jaebum’s cock, instead takes his balls in his mouth, one at a time carefully. He lets his tongue run over the wrinkled skin before he leans back again, licks a fat stripe on the underside of Jaebum’s cock. In the warm of the night, Jaebum’s skin burns against his tongue, and Jinyoung blames it on the swollen veins that wrap around his erection. He traces them with his tongue, then takes him in again, deep, until his nose presses against the small bush of hair at Jaebum’s base. Until his cock, not the longest, but fat, makes him gag and choke and turn red from how eagerly he sucks. 

He looks up, pleading, the corners of his eyes wet, and that’s when Jaebum cums with a grunt. His entire body tenses, his thighs harden, his breathing stops, then resumes. Spurts hit the back of his throat, and he swallows each drop hungrily, desperately, and below, Jinyoung slips a finger inside the barrel of the gun. 

 

He knows that Jaebum is serious about dating him when, on the third date, he teaches Jinyoung how to shoot a gun. They don’t go to a range, as Jinyoung had imagined, but they do it out in the wilderness with no other targets but the ones his bodyguard tacks up on a tree. Jinyoung pretends to be useless at shooting so that Jaebum has to come up from behind and align their arms together. 

“Like this,” he murmurs and each word lays over Jinyoung’s neck like warm, wet breaths. He almost goes slack from sensation, but Jaebum props him up and guides his hands, his arms. At one point, he drops one of his hands to wrap around Jinyoung’s hip. All of his nerves flock to there.

When they finally shoot, the recoil is less than Jinyoung expects, but he still stumbles back just enough to have his ass graze against Jaebum’s groin. Jaebum gives a quiet groan, then presses forward, and they remain there for a second, without a breath between their bodies. Jinyoung can feel Jaebum’s belt against his lower back so he sways his hips just slightly, lets a thin layer of friction grow between them. And when Jaebum snakes a hand around to grab Jinyoung’s crotch, he’s hard, ready. 

Jaebum orders his bodyguard to look away, to stand a few feet away so he can fuck Jinyoung on top of the car. He bends him over, lifts his hips high up so that his ass is on display. When he pries his cheeks apart, the forest air is cool against his rim and Jinyoung shudders, tightens, but Jaebum, with short but steady fingers, works him back open. He spends most of his time kneading at pink of his rim before he digs further, bends a finger when he’s inside, where the muscles tighten but his walls are softer. 

Jinyoung’s cheek is pressed against the cold hood of the car as his entire body seems to flare with heat. The more he gets fucked by Jaebum’s fingers, the more he writhes, the more his fists slide along the car. When Jaebum tries to fit in three fingers, Jinyoung knows he’s ready, so he curves his back so that his ass is more exposed. He opens himself as best as he can, shows Jaebum, who by now must only be watching him, just how pliant and malleable he can be. His entrance quivers, Jaebum’s fingers disappear, and Jinyoung’s breath fogs up the blue metal in front of him. He doesn’t dare look back, just closes his eyes and waits for what comes. 

Without his eyes, he is left to find his world through touch. The cool metal of the hood under his fingers, the shape of the car vents digging into his bare thighs. The sudden wetness of Jaebum’s spit, the dry, rough infiltration of his cock. The drag of his cock against his walls, then the warm way in which his walls become moist, as if welcoming him. As if drawing Jaebum in.

Jinyoung moans but even those sounds become inaudible the longer Jaebum fucks him. It seems like he does for hours, lazy, languid, as if he’s testing Jinyoung’s ass out. His fingers dig into Jinyoung’s hips, and he knows that his nails will leave a mark, but he still pushes pack and begs for more. 

He doesn’t expect Jaebum to pull out, but he does, and his walls contract, he feels empty. He opens his mouth to complain but Jaebum rams himself inside him again with a breathy “fuck” and Jinyoung’s eyes roll back. He keeps doing it, the pulling out just to push in, emptying Jinyoung just to fill him again. At this, Jinyoung’s toes curl and he wonders, for a second, if he can cum just from getting fucked. Jaebum gives him no time to think, he speeds up, goes harder, faster, until he doesn’t even try to pull out all the way, just enough for his head to graze the right nerves that make Jinyoung’s entire lower body light up in warm static. 

He fucks him so hard that he’s sure he passes out for a few seconds. The world goes white, he no longer feels the car, no longer hears the birds in the distance, no longer sees the trees shivering in the breeze. All he’s aware of is a pulse, and only when he comes back to reality, when he wakes up to find Jaebum stretching him out to dig out his cum with his fingers, cleaning Jinyoung, does he realize the pulse comes from between his legs. He cummed, too. This realization makes him smile, though weakly. He stands on shaky legs and hugs Jaebum with unsteady arms. On the way back home, he falls asleep with his head on Jaebum’s shoulder and a hand on his thigh. 

 

He knows that Jaebum is powerful in ways he can’t imagine. He never asks Jaebum about his work directly, or what gives him enough money that every dating marker -- from one-hundred days to their first month -- is punctuated by expensive jewelry. First it’s a ring, Jinyoung’s name inscribed. White gold, a small sapphire embedded into it. Then it’s a mound of flowers that end up in his home and fill his kitchen. Then it’s a necklace with Jaebum’s initials, it’s a bracelet with a palm tree on it. 

The only time he ever mentions work is when he has to cancel plans or leave abruptly from their dates or when he abandons Jinyoung in bed to stand in the balcony and talk “business” for what seems like hours. 

Only after six months does he ever get a glimpse of what Jaebum does. He hosts a dinner, and asks Jinyoung to help. And by help, he means Jinyoung has to stand near him, has to look pretty. Four men arrive, though none are as young as Jaebum. Jinyoung lights their cigarettes, he tells jokes, he smiles, he laughs. He pours wine in their glasses, he brings food to them, he takes away their plates. 

He pretends to be awed when one of them pulls out a gun and puts it in his hand, and Jinyoung feels its weight, his eyes wide, full of surprise. He fingers the latch and the man takes it away, smiling, as if Jinyoung might shoot someone if he isn’t careful. 

He knows these are powerful men because each of them arrive with three others, fully armed, expressionless. One stands outside their door, and the rest linger around the room, pressed to wall, as if decor rather than people. When Jinyoung tries to talk to them, they never respond, and Jaebum’s guests laugh. 

“Innocent,” they say, and Jinyoung’s cheeks flush with color. 

These men are rich, he knows, because their fingers glimmer when they raise their hands, their rings hard to ignore. One, especially, has fingers saturated with rings. He looks gaudy and tacky and Jinyoung wonders if that makes him the leader of the group. There is a ring, in specific, that boasts a fat emerald and gold fittings that look lovely only because of how blatantly expensive it is. 

Jinyoung stares from the kitchen, tries to attribute each ring to a life taken. He wonders who has the most guns, who has the most money, the most power. When he lights their cigarettes for the last time, he takes a moment to stare at each man’s hand, and the one with the most rings notices. He makes an offhand comment, something about Jinyoung. He never finds out what it is. He only knows that it makes the men fall quiet, the entire room settles into silence. 

He knows these are powerful men, but he knows, too, that Jaebum is more powerful. He knows because two weeks later, on the counter of Jaebum’s apartment, he sees the ring with the emerald again, the finger still attached. A small note says “for your troubles”.

 

He knows Jaebum pushes his jaw forward when he’s stressed, and when he’s stressed, he’s never in the mood for anything more than brooding. But they have been dating for a year, and Jaebum has taken them to an expensive resort near Havana. But Jinyoung wants something more than a nice view for their anniversary. Yet, no matter how much he prances around in only Jaebum’s button-up, no matter how much he bends over in front of him, or rustles the back of his hair with his fingers, Jaebum doesn’t budge. Sometimes he gives him a quiet smile, though mostly he stares off in the distance looking stressed, worried. 

But Jinyoung knows that Jaebum has never been able to resist a shower. So he puts on his bathrobe and checks the clock and makes his way to the window, pretends to look at the view. Then he turns around and Jaebum’s eyes are on him. Jaebum wears slacks that hug his thighs, thick as he sits, spread open, wide. He wears a shirt that’s been buttoned down, his chest on display, and Jinyoung has never wanted him more. 

“I’m going to shower,” Jinyoung chimes and makes his way to the bathroom. He knows Jaebum’s eyes are on him -- their intensity has weight and power, so he discards the bathrobe there. He makes sure it lingers around the swollen curve of his ass, so that it pauses, slides down slowly, building anticipation, building hunger. Then he steps inside, heads to the wide shower, turns on the water and wait until it steams and makes the air in the bathroom as thick as a sauna. 

He knows that Jaebum will follow soon, and, if he’s timed it correctly, if he’s loud enough, if he fucks Jaebum well enough, then he shouldn’t be able to hear the gunshots in the distance. If he’s timed it correctly, the bodyguards at the elevator should be dead when Jinyoung bounces in Jaebum’s lap, and the one at the door should be dead when he cums over him and the bathroom tiles. Jinyoung knows there are three guns in the room that can help him escape, but, more importantly, he knows how to use them. 

Jaebum’s steps echo in the bathroom. Jinyoung wets his hair and he hears him take off his shoes. Jinyoung counts under his breath, and when Jaebum finally emerges, naked and gleaming with sweat, Jinyoung knows he’s just on time. 

“Baby,” Jinyoung breathes. 

After a year of dating, there are a few things Jaebum has yet to learn about Jinyoung. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jaebum is always rough. 

From the first date, he had been sweet, showering Jinyoung with attention and affection. He buys him roses and rings and chocolates in ribboned boxes. He opens the door for him, pulls out his chair in restaurants, and when Jinyoung was living at home, he’d walk him straight to the door until Jinyoung started inviting him inside. 

He always thought that sweetness would translate into careful, slow sex full of holding, full of a calm desire. But Jaebum, from the first time, had been rough. He still is rough. 

“I want you to feel,” he’d said once, “I want you to feel how much I want you.” 

He doesn’t have to say it now as Jinyoung places his hands against the tiled shower wall, spreading his legs apart. He leans over and waits for the inevitable -- Jaebum has never had a problem making him feel. 

It’s why he leaves most of his rings on. It’s why, when he soaps up his fingers, when he slides the first one into Jinyoung, he can feel the rings there, pressing against his walls, stretching him around their shape. They don’t hurt, no, but it never hurts at first. 

“How does it feel, Bambi?” Jaebum asks and Jinyoung, eyes shut tight, head hanging, only moans in response. Then comes a second finger, this one with one more ring, thick in particular. He knows the one, he kisses Jaebum’s fingers almost every night. Silver, thick. In the shape of a snake curling into itself. It drags up his walls, scratching him, and Jinyoung’s breath catches in his throat. He whines and Jaebum seems pleased because he starts fucking him with his fingers, scissoring them, bending them so that Jinyoung’s legs spread wider. So that his eyes pool with tears. 

Then he pulls out and Jinyoung feels empty. He whines, and he can almost hear the smile in Jaebum’s voice, sweet and full of venom when he says, “Bambi, you’re so impatient.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond, Jaebum spanks his ass with enough force that whatever he was going to say comes out in a breath. Then Jaebum spanks him again and his eyes fly open and see the water splatter on the ground. He spanks him again and again until Jinyoung can feel each ring start to leave marks against his skin, until the wet slaps ring in his ear, echoing on loop, and his throat fills with tiny mewls. 

He goes numb halfway in, so much that he isn’t sure of when Jaebum stops, or when he steps closer and pushes Jinyoung forward. He presses him against the tile, so that his chest and stomach are cold while his back burns with Jaebum’s body pressed against his. He can feel Jaebum’s cock slide against his ass, and he can feel it when it slips upright and straight the closer Jaebum gets. He tries to press back, to rub his ass against his cock, to have friction and tease him and have some control but Jaebum grabs his hips. All he can feel, then, is the stinging outline of Jaebum’s handprints on his ass and the steady fingers that hold his hips in place and don’t let him move as Jaebum rubs his cock on him. 

He rubs it up and down, letting it slip between his ass, and then he presses forward until Jinyoung can feel the tip peeking in through his thighs. He squeezes them, tries to grab Jaebum's cock, but it slips away and Jinyoung whines. 

“Do you want my cock, Bambi?” he asks and Jinyoung pauses, takes in the moment -- the running water falling against the tile, Jaebum’s body pressed against his, skin that seems to burn with desire. Jaebum’s cock just under his ass, its length pressed against its cleft and the light scratch of his pubic hair rubbing on his ass cheeks. He can still feel where Jaebum spanked him, and he is suddenly aware of his body. As if he doesn’t exist, as if he doesn’t have shape or form until Jaebum touches him. Until Jaebum’s hands, still gripping his hips, hold tighter and tighter until Jinyoung can feel the bruises start to form. 

Jaebum wants him to feel, and he always does so well. 

Jinyoung nods in response to the question, but Jaebum isn’t satisfied. He unclasps his fingers and reaches for the back of Jinyoung’s hair. He pulls just enough for his neck to twist, and Jaebum breathes down the side of it and bites at his earlobe, then whispers, “Use your words, Bambi.”

“Yes,” he pants, “Yes, I want your cock.” 

“How badly?” 

“Bad,” his voice is barely anything more than a gasp, “I want it bad, Jaebum.” 

“Do you want to ride me?” 

Jinyoung tries to nod but is only met with Jaebum’s grip on his hair, with the light pain in his scalp. 

“Yes,” he breathes, “Please.” 

Then Jaebum pulls away, both his hands, his chest, his legs, his cock. He pulls away so Jinyoung is left naked and slumped against the shower wall, his eyes closed, his breaths ragged and broken but full of want and need. He turns around slowly, finds that Jaebum has already turned off the water. Jaebum sits down on the floor and strokes himself absently. His eyes are dark and follow every one of Jinyoung’s movements as he stumbles to his knees, winces for a second. Then he reaches for the soap and crawls forward. 

“Let me,” Jinyoung says and Jaebum pulls way his hands. They dangle at his side as Jinyoung gets to work. 

He lathers Jaebum up slowly, takes the time to run his palms up Jaebum’s thighs and to admire the strong hip bones. His fingers circle around the hair on the tops of his thighs, the smooth inner thigh. He goes higher and higher until he can massage Jaebum’s balls, then, slowly, his cock until it’s all covered in a thin layer of soap. He takes his time with Jaebum’s cock because just like Jaebum wants him to feel, Jinyoung wants him to feel, too.

He wants Jaebum to look down and see his Bambi doing a good job, to know that his Bambi knows how to work him right, that his Bambi, who moves forward on his knees until he’s straddling Jaebum, until he’s leading his soapy cock into his entrance, knows how to make Jaebum feel good, too. 

He sinks down on Jaebum’s lap with a noiseless breath. His lips part and his eyes close. His eyes roll back as he adjusts to Jaebum’s size, girth always wide, thick, always on the edge of excess. He flits between pain and pleasure when he starts to move his hips absently, back and forth, a simple rhythm. He still isn’t used to the size -- after a year, he doubts he ever will. Or maybe it isn’t so much size, but Jaebum’s presence, his ego. As if, with confidence, his cock keeps swelling and growing inside of Jinyoung. As if this part of him, too, wants Jinyoung to feel, wants to stretch him out, wants him to be sore for days like he tends to be. 

“Jaebum,” he cries, “Jaebum.” 

And, as if summoned back to life, Jaebum’s hands find Jinyoung’s ass. They spread his cheeks open each time Jinyoung snaps his hips back, burying his cock deeper. But Jinyoung slows, already tired, already worn out, and Jaebum has to pick up the slack. He starts snapping his hips up off the ground while his hands hold Jinyoung in place. Jinyoung drapes his arms around Jaebum's neck.

Jaebum kisses Jinyoung’s wrists and Jinyoung’s body flares up with heat. These random acts of intimacy, wedged between rough fucking, nestled in moments of lust and pain, always disarm him. Jaebum knows how to get him every time. 

Then Jaebum’s fingers keep crawling closer to his entrance until it seems like they’re stretching his hole out, too. As if Jaebum’s cock isn’t enough to make him feel, as if he needs to be opened more, as if the slide has to be impossibly smooth. Jinyoung cries out when Jaebum goes faster and faster. Jaebum holds him open, fucks him eagerly, and he feels incredibly naked and vulnerable and he loves it as much as he hates it. There are no secrets of the flesh with Jaebum, he knows Jinyoung completely inside and out. 

His thighs tremble from sitting up and his knees dig into the floor and his ass still burns from the spanking but the pleasure is too sweet not to hang on. The pain melts away the more Jaebum fucks him until all he’s aware of is his cock going in and out of him, hitting a little bundle of nerves from time to time that make him moan with pleasure. 

Then Jaebum gets close -- he knows because Jaebum’s hips slow until they’re lazy strokes. Then he pats Jinyoung’s hips, says, “Milk me, Bambi.” 

And Jinyoung does as he’s told. He sinks back down on his cock, gathers all his strength, and turns his hips in a circle. He opens his eyes and Jaebum’s jaw juts out -- his eyes look impossibly dark as he watches Jinyoung ride him. Wet hair sticks to his forehead, and his shoulders are tinted pink. Jinyoung focuses on the way Jaebum's chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, and the thin gold chain hanging down the middle of it. 

He squeezes around Jaebum, goes up then down, almost bounces, enjoying the feel of Jaebum filling him up each time he goes down and his cock slides in. Until his ass jiggles against Jaebum's hips. Soon, Jaebum’s eyes roll back, he bites his lip, and spurts of cum shoot up Jinyoung’s ass. He keeps riding, though, until Jaebum is wincing, until his cock softens inside of Jinyoung. He still tightens around him, he likes to watch Jaebum feel, too. 

Then comes the final “Bambi,” muttered more than whispered, tossed at him when he slides off his lap and cum slides down between his thighs. 

“Bambi,” he says again, “You’re fucking perfect.” 

 

His legs are shaky when he leaves the shower, but Jinyoung tries to focus on the task at hand. He dries his hair, slips on his underwear. Jaebum hasn’t bothered with his and, instead, lingers near the door with only a shirt on his shoulders. It hangs open, unbuttoned, and Jinyoung licks his lips every time he turns around and he catches sight of Jaebum's cock, still red, swaying between his legs. The rest of his body is a sight, too, and Jinyoung has to look down to where he towels himself off to keep from further distractions. 

Then come the thumps: one big one at first, in the distance, enough for both of their heads to turn. Jaebum walks into the room and Jinyoung follows behind him. But, while Jaebum heads towards the door, Jinyoung heads to the bed. Another thump comes, louder this time, with a quiet murmur -- yelling that’s been muffled by the walls.

Jinyoung searches frantically for the gun under the bed. Jaebum fetches his own gun by the time more yelling comes, then a third thump, then a fourth. Each time they get closer, as if the sound were walking on the wall, like a creature stepping near them, going in for the kill.

Jaebum stands in front of the door, his gun pointed. There’s a final thump, this one directly by the door, when Jinyoung finally grabs his gun. 

Mark must be here -- the timing is just right. Mark will burst through the door and Jinyoung will put a gun to Jaebum’s head and his reign will be over. 

He walks forward, slowly raising his gun. He points it at the back of Jaebum’s head, keeps walking, desperate to have it pushed against the patch of tan skin on the back of his neck. Jinyoung relishes the scene, tries to engrave the final moments before Jaebum’s fall into his memory: dark hair, still wet, clinging to tan skin; the collar of his red shirt, silk and loose, already falling off, showing the tops of broad shoulders; the fabric swaying gently as Jaebum takes a breath, then going still when he holds his breath; an earring dangling from his left ear, and Jinyoung can see a sliver of his arms, toned and firm, propping a gun up. 

Jinyoung holds his breath, too. The door flies open. He takes the safety off the gun. He leans forward. Time almost stops. 

But it isn’t Mark that walks through the door. It isn’t Hyunwoo, Jaebum’s main bodyguard, either. It’s Yugyeom, red faced, panting, out of breath and worried. He looks at Jaebum’s gun and throws his hands up, shows his palms. His gun clatters to the ground. 

“Boss, we’ve been looking for you!” 

Jinyoung, hiding the gun behind his back, lets it drop. He breaks its fall with the back of his foot so it doesn’t make noise, then kicks it under the bed. 

Jaebum never lowers his gun. 

“What the fuck is going on?!” he yells. 

“It’s Bambam,” Yugyeom stammers, stepping back, “He’s trying to take over. He’s trying to knock you off the top -- he sent people over to get you and drag you over to him.” 

Silence settles in the room, a thick kind. It makes it hard to swallow, hard to breath. Everything is suddenly stuffy, but Jaebum lowers his gun, Jaebum takes a step back. He’s always cool, always collected. Even when one of his guys is telling him someone’s after his head. 

Because organized crime, by name alone, has to be organized. And Jaebum’s empire had been newly founded -- the newcomers, but with a long reputation fluttering behind them. Bambam had been the smarts, all logistics, all trafficking. He oversaw the ins and outs of production. He’d been a drug dealer originally, and now he was one third of a new kingdom. 

Jackson had been the brawns. He’d been a fighter all his life, led by respect. He dealt with brute force, with guns, with all the dirty work and intimidation. 

Jaebum had been the leader they needed. Cunning, sly, even wise, he’d been the streetkid with purpose and drive. One of the best fighters, one of the most innovative, he’d been the chosen one to lead the kingdom into a new age. With Bambam as his left hand, Jackson as his right.

But now, it seems, the kingdom is crumbling from within. 

And of course Bambam had to do it when Jinyoung’s plan was finally unfolding. Three years of planning down the drain. He tries to hide his frustration and closes his eyes, brings his hands to his head. 

Yugyeom is the one to break the silence. He bends over to pick up his gun.

“Jackson sent me over to get you and Jinyoung to safety,” he says, “There’s a boat at the docks waiting to take you back. Then we can get you into a safehouse.” 

Jaebum still doesn’t talk. He doesn’t move, just stares at Yugyeom. 

Then, finally, he says, “Who else is with you?” 

“Sungjin is on the first floor waiting for us. That’s where most of it went down. Youngjae is outside, we cleared the floor for you.” 

Jinyoung moves from the bed to the drawer, pretends to look for something. At this, Jaebum turns around, and when Jinyoung meets his eyes, he finds a deep worry. He’s almost touched. 

“Bambi,” he says, “Vacation’s over.” 

 

Youngjae meets them at the door and they all head down the corridor to the elevator. Yugyeom leads the way, and Youngjae trails behind them. Jaebum guides Jinyoung forward, one hand on his hip, the other pointing a gun forward. Jinyoung has his own, but with Jaebum’s eyes on him, he pretends it’s heavier than it is. He pretends that he struggles to hold it up. He even pretends to be scared, that the surge of adrenaline never hits -- but it does. His heart races, his eyes flit from door to door, waiting for the next surprise. 

Waiting, still, for Mark. 

But they make it to the elevator without a hitch. Youngjae slams the button. 

“We’ve got until sunrise, then the boat leaves,” Youngjae says, gravely. The elevator dings, its mouth opens.

Then doors leading to the stairs, off to the side, bursts open. A sharp sound arrives, loud, like thunder, and leaves Jinyoung’s ears ringing. A splatter of red appears on Youngjae’s shirt and he falls to the ground. Four men appear from the door, their guns pointed, and before anything can happen, Jaebum pushes Jinyoung forward. 

He stumbles into the elevator and falls. Jaebum and Yugyeom are already in motion, already shooting, searching for cover, and Jinyoung is left to watch. He struggles to get up, but when he does, the doors close. He pounds at them, but the elevator starts to move. 

His mind, like his heart, races, and he can’t make sense of anything until he’s six floors down. He steps back and looks at the buttons, presses the emergency exit. The elevator halts and Jinyoung almost falls again but he steadies himself. He starts clawing the doors open -- the elevator has stopped between floors, and Jinyoung has to crawl his way out of it, into a quiet hallway. 

He makes sure to bring his gun, then searches for the door to the stairs but he hears yelling. Down the hallway, a blond man is running his way, screaming, holding an iron above his head. A tourist, probably scared by the shots, probably fighting for his life -- an innocent man. But Jinyoung can’t stop thinking about Jaebum in danger, he has no time for compassion. 

Jinyoung props his gun up and aims, and when he does, he remembers the day Jaebum tried to teach him to shoot. He can almost feel his hands on his, his chest pressed against his back. He can almost hear him whispering in his ear, “Focus.” 

He shoots the iron out of his hands, and then the man stumbles in front of him. In one quick stroke, Jinyoung hits his head with the base of his gun. The man slumps against the ground, and Jinyoung goes back to the doors of the staircase. He swings it open and starts to leap up the stairs, taking two at a time. He isn’t sure of what drives him more: the thought of Jaebum in danger, or the thought that someone else might have the chance of killing him before he does. 

His breaths are ragged after the first floor, his lungs burning, his throat hot and dry but he pushes through. His motives are murky, but he knows what he wants -- Jaebum under his control, Jaebum under his spell. He makes it up one flight, then heads to the next. Two floors from reaching his destination, though, he finds a group of three men. 

Before he can raise his gun, one of them jumps down over the rail, lands in front of him. He punches the gun out of Jinyoung’s hand and tries to pin him against the wall. Jinyoung is quick and kicks his groin, then kicks behind his knees so the man tumbles down the stairs. 

By then, the other men have come down, and though Jinyoung struggles, though he fights and tries to bite and scratch and kick and punch, they manage to hold him down. 

“Who the fuck is this?” the one with long hair asks.

The other, the one holding Jinyoung’s arms behind his back, twisting them until he feels the pain shoot through his bones, answers, “It’s Jaebum’s little whore.” 

Long-hair steps closer, scowling now. Jinyoung can see the gun on his hip. He holds his breath when he reaches down, but instead of the gun, he brings out a knife. 

Tears form at the corner of Jinyoung’s eyes, more out of desperation than anything. He tries to struggle again, but Long-hair punches his head and little stars form behind his eyelids. The world spins for a second, and when it settles into place again, he can feel the tip of the knife pressed against the base of his neck. 

It’s cold, sharp, feels like a pointy branch that keeps scratching against the same spot of skin. Then he swallows, a bit too heavy, and he can feel a warm line of blood trickling down his neck. He looks up at Long-hair, the edges of his vision blurred. 

He can’t think of anything else but Jaebum -- not the fact that he might be in danger, nor the fact that he wants to put him in danger. He only thinks of how many times Jaebum had saved him from this, protecting him. He thinks about which of the tricks he taught him might work, thinks of how Jaebum might handle this. He thinks only of Jaebum, as if he could summon him, as if his thoughts were pleading him to come back. 

“Should we slice him up a little and use him for bait?” Long-hair asks the man behind him, “Or do we just get it over with and send a message to our loving boss, Jaebum?” 

Jinyoung gathers all his might to spit in his direction. It doesn’t go far, instead saliva runs down his lips, curls around his chin, but Jinyoung is concerned with the principle. 

Then Long-hair smiles. His skin is pale and thin, as if stretched over his bones, almost transparent. His hair is slicked back, and his smile, though clean, still looks grimy. It’s a terrifying grin, pure evil. 

Now him and Jaebum share enemies, he thinks. How fucking romantic. 

“He chose for us, let that go on record,” Long-hair says and Jinyoung closes his eyes when he pulls the knife away. He drags lightly over the skin of his neck again, but this time to the side. Jinyoung holds his breath, hears the strobe bulbs around them buzzing with light, his own breathing, that of the two men. He hears his heart pounding and wonders what death will be like.

_ Warm _ , he decides when he feels the knife sink gently into his skin, still shallow, as if Long-hair were teasing him,  _ death will be warm _ . 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psa: bambi is a nickname jaebum has for jinyoung. i based it off a song by jidenna called "bambi" since it's part of my playlist for this fic.

Death never comes.

Instead Jinyoung feels the knife pull away from his skin. He opens his eyes and Long-hair is staring at his arm where drops of blood start to gather. First one, then two. Then a few more. Both him and Jinyoung look up as Jaebum’s expensive shoe makes contact with Long-hair’s face. He’s gripping to the railing, hanging as he lands another kick to Long-hair. Adrenaline injects itself into Jinyoung’s veins and the seconds slow down so he can see the Long-hair’s cheek form a ripple of skin where Jaebum doesn’t hold back. Then he clatters to the ground and everything becomes a blur. 

He takes advantage of the distraction and struggles out of the other man’s hold. He hears the knife bounce around on the floor as he turns around and punches the other man’s nose, watches him topple backward on the stairs. Jinyoung jumps at his side and kicks the side of his head until his scared eyes close shut. Then he falls back against the railing of the stairs, sits down, against the wall, and looks up. 

Each breath is a struggle and each breath is deep, ragged, his whole body shivers with them. Jaebum has dragged down the other by his hair, deposits him on top of the other body. 

“Baby,” he whispers, grinning, and Jinyoung notices the line of blood on his arm, the red splatters dried up his neck. His lip is bloody, but he licks it away. Still, Jinyoung’s eyebrows push together and he wonders where this worry comes from, and why he suddenly needs to know that Jaebum isn’t hurt, at least not badly. 

But he has no time -- Jaebum suddenly notices the blood on Jinyoung’s neck and he reaches forward to brush his fingers against the small wound. It doesn’t hurt, no, but it burns, and Jinyoung isn’t sure if it’s because of the wound or Jaebum’s fingers, or the way that his expression plunges into anger. He turns back to both men, both passed out, but definitely alive. Any light from his eyes is gone, and Jinyoung stands slowly, suddenly fearful. 

“Did they do this to you?” he asks, turns to Jinyoung. He just nods, presses further back against the wall, wanting to disappear. Jaebum looks angry beyond comprehension, but he realizes, too, that this face is familiar: this rage, this cold gaze. It’s underneath Jaebum’s usual expressions, always hiding, waiting to come out. As if always ready at a moment’s notice, as if the line between murderer and lover were just a thin sheet of ice, easily tempted and broken. 

Jaebum glances at him for what seems like hours before he turns back to the men. With his feet he kicks the first man off the other, and then he starts to stomp on them, stomps until Jinyoung sees red, stomps until he can’t recognize their face, can only tell them apart by their hair. He stomps until Jinyoung has to look away, afraid to throw up, but the sound fills his ears; the sound of bones breaking, of blood squelching; of death coming to claim a pair of bodies, and when Jaebum realizes, when Jaebum notices that Jinyoung is staring at the stairs, trying to keep his eyes open, his thick eyebrows furrowed and his hand trembling, he finally stops. 

“Baby, no,” he says but Jinyoung is already breathing heavy. He reaches out to Jinyoung and by instinct, Jinyoung recoils. Jinyoung peeks in his direction, finally meets his eyes, and Jaebum looks hurt; he looks boyish, a bit scared, mostly concerned. Jinyoung has never seen him this way, and his heart pauses for a second, as if hurting, too. 

Then Jaebum shakes his head, shakes it off, ignores the way Jinyoung seems to hide from him in plain sight and wraps his short fingers around his wrist. 

“Come on,” he says, firm, suddenly back in his usual mode of conduct. He fishes out a gun from one of the body’s back pocket, leads the way down the stairs with it pointed forward. Jinyoung does his best to follow him without falling, not that he has to focus much. Jaebum leads him cleanly down every flight of stairs, often checking back on Jinyoung, his hold firm enough that all Jinyoung has to do is stare at the ground and put one foot in front of the other. He ignores Jaebum’s shoes and the way the blood has started to dry. 

Slowly, by the time they reach the ground floor, by the time they descend beyond it into the garage, Jinyoung feels normal again. 

 

Jaebum pauses by the bottom door and takes a breath. He puts a finger to his lips and signals Jinyoung to be quiet. Slowly, he toes open the door and steps out, gun in front of him. The parking garage is silent, nearly empty. Only the lights above them buzz with energy, old and long bulbs. Jinyoung follows close behind, looks up at the light, wonders if Mark saw these on his way over here. Mark -- he can’t get him out of his mind. Can’t seem to stop wondering if he had ever showed up or if he, too, was betrayed, maybe abandoned. 

Then a voice pierces the silence. 

“Boss!” Yugyeom emerges from the side, from the shadows, but he doesn’t get close. “Sungjin’s down.” 

Jinyoung and Jaebum close the gap, and Yugyeom points with a gun to a body next to him. Jinyoung, again, has to look away -- all he sees is red. Jaebum is the one to kneel down, to press his hands against his body. Jinyoung looks up at the light again, as if it could wash away the sight of so many dead bodies. 

“This just happened,” Jaebum says and Yugyeom shifts his weight from one foot to the next. Jaebum sounds angry again, controlling, the leader their group knows, and Jinyoung finds safety in that. At least one of them acts like their usual self. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Someone just shot him down,” Jaebum says, standing, looking around, “Someone is in here.” 

“Boss,” Yugyeom says, almost pleading, “We have to get you to safehouse.”

Jaebum doesn’t answer, instead he props up his gun and shoots to the right of the parking lot, then the left. One of the bullets ricochet and Jinyoung hears glass break. Jaebum scans the parking garage with the gun again, shoots off to the left. The shots ring in Jinyoung’s ear, but the sound of a car starting is clear. The engine roars and then the wheels screech. 

“Where’s the fucking car?!” Jaebum yells, already starting to run, already holding Jinyoung’s wrist in his hand, pulling him along like a child. Jinyoung can barely keep up with what happens, but as he runs with Jaebum, as the lights settle in and his ears stop ringing and he remembers who he is, where he is, everything starts to make sense again. Jaebum’s hold on his wrist burns more and it’s all he becomes aware of. Those fingers, the cool rings, the watch that rattles at his wrist and those expensive clothes, now marred by blood. 

He focuses on those details as Jaebum leads him towards the car and snatches the keys from Yugyeom’s hands. The car beeps, the doors unlock, but when they’re steps away, Yugyeom groans. 

“When did they start giving Interpol guns?!” he yells and Jinyoung, before thinking, peels away from Jaebum’s hold. Jaebum turns to give him a look, startled, confused, but Jinyoung runs to where Yugyeom is. His eyes fall to the body, clothed in black, and he steps closer until he can make sure that it isn’t Mark. He breathes a sigh of relief, pauses for a second. Then Jaebum’s hands are clasping his arm, tugging him along. 

“What the fuck are you staring at, Jinyoung?! We have to fucking go!” 

The thought of Mark dead ignites flames inside of Jinyoung. He prickles up, pulls his arm away from Jaebum, but still follows him to the car. They board quickly, and soon they’re roaring out of the parking garage -- Yugyeom reloads in the backseat and Jinyoung broods in the passenger seat. The most alive is Jaebum, still scowling, searching the road for the runaway car, one hand wrapped around the steering wheel and the other pinting the gun outside of the window. 

Jinyoung loses himself in a daze, still mourning Mark’s imagined death. Jaebum doesn’t take note, and if he does, he doesn’t show it -- instead he races down the road, enough that each turn slams Jinyoung’s body against the side of the door, and each hesitation makes the car tremble. 

In the dark, though, Jinyoung sees the red lights of another car, going just as fast as them, maybe slower. His eyes go wide. 

“There he fucking is,” Jaebum says and slams the window with the gun until it breaks off entirely. Some of the shards spill in, but Jaebum brushes them off. His head nearly hangs out of the car and the wind whips into the car. Still, he drives seamlessly, even as he starts to shoot at the car in front of him, shattering their back window. 

Jinyoung starts to panic. He gazes out, tries to do math in his head, tries to calculate the times, the agents, and to his demise, he figures Mark should be in that car. 

It should have been Mark that killed Sungjin, it should be Mark driving. It should be Mark getting shot at. 

It should be Mark that Jaebum is trying to murder. 

And if years of research has taught him anything, it’s that Jaebum has never left anyone alive. Once he has an enemy, it seemed, they would be killed, one way or another, whether drowned or shot or burned alive in the middle of the highway, the body scorched and ready to be found. Jaebum sees things through, every single time, and the thought of the other car crashed and Mark bleeding, dead and beyond recognition, probably pummeled into glass and metal and leaking oils wakes him up. 

He can’t say no, can’t tell Jaebum to stop -- he still can’t risk exposing himself. Jaebum is already taking another shot which makes the car swerve. Yugyeom tumbles in the back, mostly useless, and Jinyoung has to grip the handle of the door and his seat to stay in place. 

He can’t stop Jaebum physically either, can’t restrain him, so he panics. His hands move at their own accord -- they crash into Jaebum’s lap and undo the button of his slacks. He rips open the zipper and slides his hand into his underwear. Even in the midst of shooting, or perhaps because of it, Jaebum is already half-hard. 

“What the fuck, Jinyoung?! What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaebum keeps yelling but Jinyoung no longer hears him. The car swerves as he wedges himself between the steering wheel and Jaebum’s lap and pulls out his cock to put it against his lips. The car keeps moving and the steering wheel digs into his shoulder and every time Jaebum hesitates while driving, Jinyoung’s head moves forward and slams against the door but he finds his focus eventually. 

In a few tugs, Jaebum is hard and Jinyoung ignores all his pain to wrap his lips around the head and force himself down. He chokes, soon -- without any control, he’s left to gag and push down and Jaebum’s pubes brush against his nose and his cock presses against his throat and his eyes tear up. There is no pleasure, here, only a desperate, messy sucking. His tongue presses against the length and the taste of salt fills his mouth and he can feel every vein, can feel every throb. Even as Jaebum keeps cursing him, he’s enjoying it, too. Especially when Jinyoung finds a rhythm and starts bobbing his head up and down, feels the skin drag along Jaebum’s cock, feels it become impossibly hard, scalding in his mouth. 

His hands hold on to the side of Jaebum’s seat and his thighs and every time Jaebum accelerates or decelerates, he feels the movement under his fingers. The shifting of muscles over thin slacks. Every hesitation, every fit of anger ripples and Jinyong starts to crave it, tightens his fingers around them. 

Then he feels a grip in his hair and Jaebum tries to tug him off. 

But Jinyoung is set on not pulling away until he knows Mark is safe, until Jaebum is too distracted to kill. He almost misses the times Jaebum would turn away from the world when Jinyoung sucked him off -- in his home office, on the couch, under tables in restaurants and in the backseat of private cars. 

Jaebum keeps tugging and the pain on Jinyoung’s scalps builds so he sucks harder, sloppily. He feels saliva run down his lips and he feels messy and gross but it makes the slide so much smoother. Then, as if surrendering, the car stops swerving. It seems to slow, and Jaebum keeps cursing, but the words are low and muttered. 

Then the car slows to a stop and Jinyoung realizes Jaebum has pulled over. 

He lets go of Jinyoung’s hair and Jinyoung’s head sinks down to the base of his cock by propulsion alone. He starts to choke, more so than before, so he tries to pull off. But Jaebum doesn’t let him -- he has his gun pressed to Jinyoung’s head, and whenever Jinyoung tries to lift his head, he’s met with the end of it. It feels warm, surprisingly, not cold like his fantasies. 

“You wanted this,” Jaebum says, “Then do it. Get to it, Bambi. You want to fucking do this while I drive? Go ahead. Finish it.” 

Jinyoung is crying now, though he isn’t sure if it’s from choking or the loss of adrenaline or the shock of having a gun pressed against his head, his neck still in pain, his fingers sore and aching from here he tries to hold onto the seat. His head starts to bob again, this time quicker, as if trying to finish quickly. And, somehow, Jaebum’s cock keeps getting warmer and warmer -- it throbs in his mouth, hits the back of his throat so many times that Jinyoung stops reacting. 

By the time Jaebum starts lifting his hips up into Jinyoung’s mouth, his cock glides, wet and gleaming from so much saliva, from so much cum that leaks from the tip and coats it. 

Then, a few seconds later, Jaebum grips Jinyoung’s hair again to hold him in place and fucks his mouth with quick snaps of his hips. The sound is wet, the movement forceful -- it pulls out quiet moans from Jinyoung’s chest, and, to his embarrassment, they sound needy. Even through all of this, even from the pain of bending himself over to suck him off, the pain of having a gun slammed to his head, the pain of being rattled around in the car, of having Jaebum treat him like he’s nothing but a mouth, like a whore, he still wants him. He still wants Jaebum badly, each and every time. 

Jaebum cums in thick spurts, and Jinyoung, left with no choice but to swallow, does his best at it. He cleans Jaebum’s cock, even when he’s allowed to pull off. He licks the side, licks the base, licks the red, swollen head that still seems to leak white beads, licks Jaebum’s pubes until no cum remains, until he’s swallowed it all. He almost feels it in his stomach, warm and pulsing, and then he sits up in silence. With a finger, he swipes the cum from the corner of his lips, and feeling Jaebum’s eyes on him, he slips it into his mouth and swallows that, too. 

For what feels like hours, they sit in silence. Only their breaths rise in the air, and Jinyoung tries to keep his short and quiet. Then, from the backseat, Yugyeom raises his voice, starts telling Jaebum the directions to the safehouse. Though Jinyoung doesn’t look his way, opts, instead, to look outside the window as they drive, he can feel Jaebum’s eyes on him. They burn into the side of his neck, so much that Jinyoung curls into himself, tries not to cry. 

 

The safehouse is small -- a fisherman’s lodge, though a few miles from the beach. 

“In the morning, there’s a boat that goes out to the mainland. That’s how we get back, then there’ll be someone on the other side ready to take you to the main safehouse. Then we can deal with everything,” Yugyeom says as he knocks on the metal door. There’s some grunting inside, some shuffling, then it creaks open. Brian’s familiar face is on the other side. 

“Well, look what the fucking cat dragged in.” 

Jinyoung wonders what they look like, splattered in blood, limping inside the small, cramped living room with a single couch. He wonders what  _ he  _ looks like, his shoulders slumped, his arms hugging his middle. He follows Jaebum quietly, even if they haven’t exchanged a word. For a second, he thinks it will be alright. They just have to get to the mainland, the mess will be dealt with, and as soon as there’s peace, he can strike. 

He just needs to survive until then. 

“You guys can hang out in that room. The perimeter is safe, trust me. No one’s going to find you,” Brian says. “Y’all want coffee?” 

Jaebum rolls his eyes, but Yugyeom agrees. That leaves Jinyoung and Jaebum to tread into the small bedroom alone. There’s a bathroom attached, and Jinyoung heads in that direction. It’s hard to believe that just a few hours before, he’d been leading Jaebum into one, already naked, already wanting him, luring his eyes to him. This time, Jaebum’s eyes are still on him, but Jinyoung’s walk is less confident. It’s almost shameful the way he pulls off his shirt, intent on washing it. As if he could wash away tonight’s events, as if he could forget.

He stands in the doorway, wondering if things can be made right. There’s a small shower and a basin next to it. With some soap, he could wash Jaebum’s clothes, too. 

“Jaebum, if you want I could wash your shirt,” he says, “So there’s no blood.” 

His voice is small, as small as he’s ever heard himself speak, small enough that he wonders if this is his throat, his lungs. If someone hasn’t swapped it out for someone else’s. He sounds so scared, so weak, he hates it. But, resolved, he takes a deep breath, turns around. There is a man to fool, after all. 

When he turns, Jaebum is at the doorway, scowling. His arm is raised, and by the time Jinyoung notices his fist, his legs are already giving away. He falls on tile, blue and bright, with a small flower twisted in the middle. He looks up, drowsy. The world spins, and Jaebum’s frame slides from one side to the other. 

Then the second fist comes and his vision goes black. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a head's up, this is a side-account where i'm dumping unrevised drafts of nsfw stories i used to practice that would have never seen the light of day. 
> 
> i'm just wondering if the length of chapters is okay? should they be longer, or are they okay as is? and should i keep updating this on tuesday or another day, like saturday or sunday? tell me in the comments or drop an ask on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jjpsbf) if you have an opinion on that. thanks for reading, everyone. <3

He wakes up to a quiet rustling. His head feels heavy, and it rolls from one side to the other as his mind crawls out of sleep. The cement ceiling comes into view first -- completely gray with a few strokes of white around an unlit bulb. The only light that comes in is from the bathroom, a faded, white glow that turns to blue in the shadows. Then he looks down and sees his toes, his legs, his hips, all bared and naked on the bed. Off to his right he hears more rustling, then sees a frame moving quietly in the dark of the room. 

When he turns, Yugyeom is opening the door to the bedroom as quietly as he can. He turns to scan the room, finds Jinyoung’s eyes. They look at each other for a second -- nothing more than a glance -- but it’s enough to recognize the spark in Yugyeom’s eyes. 

It’s the same one Jinyoung had earlier that night, what seems like days ago. Yugyeom has a secret, and it’s coming out soon. Jinyoung looks to the other bed in the room, the one Yugyeom was laying in, but nothing remains except a pillow and his gun. 

Then footsteps fill the room and Jinyoung glances at the bathroom. Jaebum emerges, still undressed with wet hair. He only wears a shirt, most likely not his own: it’s baggy, looks tropical, and it slides off his shoulders with every step, and Jinyoung would tell him to change but he’s too busy letting his gaze drag up and down Jaebum’s shape. His shoulders are broad, but his waist is small, taut and fit. His chest, too, looks sturdy, and though his legs are short, they’re wide enough for Jinyoung to feel a small jolt down his spine. 

Jaebum steps closer, sits on the edge of the bed, far from Jinyoung’s reach. And as he settles, the bed creaks, and Jinyoung’s body moves. The pounding in his head settles in and he remembers the punches -- a blurred memory, but insistent and present. Like a nightmare he can't shake off. And he almost laughs -- they had told him Jaebum would hurt him the moment they started dating, that he would be violent and erratic. That Jinyoung might not be alive after a few months. 

And here he is, a whole year later, nursing the only ache Jaebum has ever inflicted on him. That’s when he notices the stack of clothes next to Jaebum, too, and he looks back at his body. There is no blood, no dirt, and he realizes Jaebum has bathed him. 

“You’re up.” Jaebum says. His expression, like his voice, says little, and for a second Jinyoung doubts anything has happened at all. Maybe the punches had been a bad dream, maybe the pain near his eyes is nothing more than his imagination. Some fantasy he's forced to be real. He reaches for the clothes, but that’s when he notices his hands don’t move; his arms are propped up, held by a rough, fat string around his wrists. The more he pulls on his hands, the more the bed trembles. 

“You tied me up?!” Jinyoung spits, suddenly anxious. The rest of the room crashes into place: the peeling paint on the walls, the broken tile, its suffocating size -- humid and warm, racing towards hot. 

“What did you expect?” 

Jaebum sounds calm, too calm, and Jinyoung wishes he could strangle him, but he settles for kicking him. He raises a foot, aims it and flails but Jaebum is quicker. In a few strokes, he has Jinyoung’s legs pinned down. And though Jinyoung has failed, he sees Jaebum’s cold expression start to shatter around the edges. He looks stressed, he looks pissed, but what most excites Jinyoung are his eyes: he looks sad, betrayed. 

“Fuck you.” Jinyoung says, smiling now. He tries to kick again, but his body just shakes. 

“Did Bambam send you?” 

Jaebum leans in closer, looks angrier, more desperate, and Jinyoung starts to laugh. He sounds so eager to know, so worried, so  _ confused  _ that Jinyoung almost feels bad, almost tells him the whole truth, from his assignment to Mark to the first time he heard Jaebum’s name five years ago. But rage, as always, trumps guilt. 

“Does it matter?”

“Who sent you?” Jaebum scoots closer, sounds more firm. His expression hardens, and Jinyoung notes his jaw sticking out and how dark his eyes look, darker than black. 

“None of your business. You won’t kill me either way, will you? Your little  _ Bambi _ ?”

He means to say more, but he chokes on his words -- Jaebum leaps forward and wraps his fingers around Jinyoung’s throat. From one second to the next, Jinyoung can no longer breath, can no longer think. Every thought and every nerve flocks to the hand at his neck, the rings that dig into his skin, the fingers that will no doubt leave a mark. 

“Who the fuck sent you?” 

He fears death, yes, but he fears Jaebum more: his face hovers over his and his lips are twisted into a frown, though from this angle it looks like a smile. A dark, terrifying smile; his teeth look sharp, and his eyes look almost entirely black. 

It reminds him of the staircase, the stomping, the blood. Jinyoung feels less brave, less loud; his eyes tear up and his legs squirm, and just as black starts to leak into his line of vision, Jaebum pulls his hand away. 

Jinyoung coughs first, then starts to gasp for air, drinks it in wide gulps that make his ribs hurt. A single tear falls down, and it takes almost a minute before he feels calm again, before his legs aren’t quivering. Before the burn of rope on his wrists comes in to replace the fire on his throat. 

But one look down and he catches sight of Jaebum again, smirking, sitting neatly against the bed. He looks like he’s watching a movie, like Jinyoung writhing naked in bed were a show he paid to see; a show that doesn’t even amuse him. He hates him again, hates him enough to say. 

“Fuck you.” 

And Jaebum, like before, raises his hand. But it isn’t his throat he grabs. Instead his fingers ghost over his thigh, climb up, then grip his cock and balls in a harsh grip. He squeezes enough for Jinyoung to gasp, for his stomach to feel heavy, for the pain to be dull and numb. He feels nauseous suddenly. 

His lips part to scream but nothing comes out, just a hoarse breath. Then Jaebum pulls away again, though his hand lingers on his knee. 

“I liked you better when you were quiet,” Jaebum says then stands up from the bed. He reaches for the pile of clothes and pulls out underwear, black briefs he intends to put on him. Jinyoung is still catching his breath when Jaebum lifts his feet and slides the underwear on. 

He lets Jaebum slide them up, watches him stare at his legs, his knees, his thighs. Jaebum’s fingers are slow as they pull the briefs up and over his cock. He looks up, smiles in Jinyoung’s direction, then, with a harsh hand, flips him over. The rope around his wrists gets caught on itself, makes it hard to lay flat. He groans in protest, but his voice falls against the mattress, seems to make no sound at all. 

Then he feels Jaebum’s hands on him. He can’t see him, but if he’s quiet enough, he can hear his breath start to deepen when he starts kneading Jinyoung’s ass. His fingers dig into his skin, seem to leave dents, seem to engrave their shape into him. He pries his cheeks apart, grabs at the flesh, tightly, just to let it go again. He enjoys himself, and Jinyoung can only lay there and feel Jaebum’s finger slide closer and closer to his entrance. 

“Such a shame that you’re so pretty,” Jaebum says when he scratches at his rim and Jinyoung whines, unsure of what else to do. His body reacts by itself; his body stops being his own, stops belonging to him, at least when Jaebum is involved. At least when Jaebum spanks him once and doesn't lift his hands. Instead he grips, gets a hold, squeezes once, twice, until he finally lets go. Then he pulls the band of the underwear up with a finger and lets it fall with a snap. 

He flips him back over and Jinyoung avoids his gaze. He’s sure the bulge in his underwear is enough for Jaebum to know how much power he has over him, at least physically. 

And for now, tied up in his bed, already sweating -- both from the heat of the room and Jaebum’s touches -- and already sore, his body is all he has. 

“Are you going to tell me who sent you?”

“Nobody sent me,” Jinyoung says, finding his pride somewhere in his chest, beneath his ribs, at the base of his stomach. He finds a heat he had forgotten about, something from his youth and untouched by Jaebum’s hands. “You brought me here, baby. It’s our anniversary.” 

“Fuck you. I can leave you to die here. I can cut off your fingers and leave you to bleed out and rot. I can make you wish you weren’t alive, Jinyoung, so you better start talking. Did Bambam send you?” 

Jinyoung keeps a smile on his lips, but with the pain in his head, the ache in his wrists, and the quiet pulse between his legs, it’s hard to maintain. It falters once, twice, then falls away. He no longer looks cocky, no longer looks defiant. He simply looks lost, and, like Jaebum, betrayed. 

“No,” he says, flat, “But your little sidekick Yugyeom sure is.” 

“What the fuck are you saying?” 

He remembers the glimmer in Yugyeom’s eye -- not only does he have a secret, but he has a plan. 

“I’m saying you’re really good at keeping your enemies close. Come on, let me loose and I can help you out.”

“Why the fuck would I trust you?” 

“Because,” Jinyoung says, smiling again, “I don’t think being Jaebum’s whore is going to save me when they start shooting.” 

Jaebum slouches from where he sits. He stares at the floor in silence, intently, as if his next course of action were drawn on the floor. Then he looks up at Jinyoung, suddenly sure, suddenly a stranger in his eyes. He hasn’t seen him like this, and it feels like Jaebum is retreating -- away from this room, away from this life, away from himself. He seems more visceral, now, like an animal returning to its hunt. 

“I can kill you,” Jaebum says.

“Don’t kill me, baby,” Jinyoung teases, “You need me to get out. You can take out one person, but there’s always more around you. You’re outnumbered.” He pauses, takes a breath. “I’ll watch your back, baby, come on. We both need to get off this island. You have a target on your back, and I have one by association.”

They glance at each other for another second, then Jaebum sighs, and stands up. The shirt slides off his shoulder again, and Jinyoung stares at the skin there, still tan, still red from the struggle. There are a few scratches along the top and Jinyoung wishes he could bite it, could leave his mark there, too.

Then Jaebum turns, looks angry.

“I’m going to kill you when we get out.” 

“Not if I kill you first,” Jinyoung smiles, but Jaebum looks serious. A beat later, Jinyoung says, “It’s a joke. Just get me off this fucking island.”

For a second, none of them move. Their breaths fill the room, mix together, eat away at the silence like insects starting to feed. Then Jaebum steps closer and reaches over Jinyoung to start undoing the knots. Jinyoung’s body, though, moves by its own accord. The closer Jaebum gets, the more he leans away, the more he drives Jaebum in. 

Soon, most of Jaebum’s weight is on the bed and that’s when Jinyoung wraps his legs around him. He pulls and Jaebum falls on him, though everything happens slowly, as if they were underwater. Jinyoung stretches his legs again, looks up to find Jaebum staring at him. Their chests are pressed together, both naked, both slipper with sweat, and Jinyoung feels Jaebum’s thighs pressed against his. His cock, without underwear, fits on Jinyoung’s hip and he swears can he feel it throb against his skin. Hot and hardening. Jinyoung swallows a breath.

He looks at Jaebum, really studies him, from the bumped nose to the moles above his eyes, and the weight of a year settles on top of him. All those months of pretending become murky -- he can no longer tell where desire begins, where it ends. He can no longer tell what’s real past the small patch of hair on Jaebum’s chest, barely visible, but prickly against his skin. Nothing is real but the gentle sway of his hips as he starts to rub against Jinyoung, fitting his cock over his, hardening by the second. Nothing is real other than his hand, suddenly free, sliding over Jaebum’s neck, rising into his hair. 

“Fuck me,” he hears himself say, as if he were miles away, “Fuck me for old time’s sake.” 

Jaebum, surprisingly, starts to oblige. He looks down at Jinyoung with half-closed eyes that linger too long over his lips. He licks his lips and leaves his tongue right at the seam so that Jaebum can no longer resist. He leans down, meets Jinyoung’s tongue with his. 

And though only one of Jinyoung’s hands is free, it’s definitely enough. He reaches back, behind Jaebum, and drags his nails down his back so that red blossoms in thin scratches, so that Jaebum groans into his kiss. Jaebum, without looking, undoes the other knot, then lowers his hands to Jinyoung’s hips. 

He moves his entire frame to the bed, fits his legs between Jinyoung’s. He parts them with his knees, and Jinyoung lets himself be spread, lets Jaebum’s lips fall to his neck. He arches his back, arches his neck, gives Jaebum a sight he can’t resist. Then Jaebum kisses under his ear and Jinyoung whispers, “I want to ride you, Jaebum. Let me ride you.” 

Jaebum pulls away and sits up. Jinyoung opens his eyes and they stare at each other. And, even though he was naked before, when he tugs off the oversized shirt and it finally falls to the bed into a puddle of fabric, it makes Jinyoung’s stomach flutter. 

After a second, Jaebum settles on his side and Jinyoung moves out of the way. When he’s finally on his back, his hands fit behind his head, his cock hard and upright, already leaking, already achingly red, and when his stomach gleams in the low light, muscled with a thin line of hair beneath his belly-button, Jinyoung licks his lips. He glances one last time before he leaps off the bed and across the room and snatches Yugyeom’s gun off the bed. 

He turns just as quick, points it in Jaebum’s direction. 

“Stand up,” he says, undoes the safety on the gun, “Come on, baby, stand up.” 

Jaebum lifts his hands slowly and does as he’s told. His eyes go back to that dark color, and his expression, without the smile, is more terrifying. 

“Think about what you’re doing, Jinyoung,” he says, “You’re outnumbered.” 

“And so are you,” Jinyoung adds, “Now get dressed. Come on, be quick.” 

With a glare, Jaebum moves to the pile of clothes, pulls on the oversized shirt, pulls on some underwear. His eyes never leave Jinyoung for too long, even when pulls on old shorts and ignores the shoes. When he’s finally done, he goes back to having his hands raised. 

“Now what?” 

Jinyoung gnaws on his lip. His plan had failed from the beginning, and now, having Jaebum at gunpoint with no escape and no support, he starts to panic. What he needs is to get away from this mess, from Jaebum’s henchmen and enemies and the stupid mafia power dynamics. What he needs is for Mark to burst in through that door and help him get Jaebum in handcuffs and off the island. 

That’s what he needs, he thinks, to escape. He can no longer fool Jaebum in the same way, he thinks, but he can use him. He can take advantage of him long enough to get back to safety, and, if he’s convincing enough, he might still get his revenge. 

So he lowers his arm, tosses Jaebum the gun. Jaebum catches it, though he doesn't aim, doesn’t point. He keeps looking at Jinyoung, still on edge, still frantic. 

“Now we get off the island,” Jinyoung says, tries to smile but his lips don’t move. They flatten into a thin line, and he has to lick them to get control of them again, to get control of himself. He walks over to the clothes that have fallen to the floor, fishes out his own shirt and some shorts. 

When he looks up, Jaebum is still looking at him, though he looks more relaxed. 

“Do you have another gun? I can’t watch your back with a knife.” 

Jaebum steps back into the bathroom, returns with another gun. He tosses the smaller one to Jinyoung, and that’s when the yelling outside begins. 

For a second it sounds small, like laughter. Maybe they were excited, maybe they were laughing. But the shouting continues, escalating each time. Then come the gunshots. First one, then two, then a quick series, then silence. Jinyoung and Jaebum stare at the door, but it’s Jaebum that steps closer. It’s Jaebum that holds the doorknob and pulls slowly. Nothing happens, nothing emerges, but the shouting resumes. 

“Brian! Brian!” 

Yugyeom is yelling, and Jaebum steps outside. Jinyoung is left to follow. 

They find a familiar scene in front of them, just different characters.

Yugyeom is nudging Brian’s dead body on the ground with his foot. He points a gun in the direction of the door where Bambam stands, out of breath, looking panicked and scared. He has his gun aimed at Yugyeom. 

Jaebum raises his gun and aims at Bambam, but Jinyoung aims at Yugyeom. When they finally notice, Yugyeom looks relieved, looks almost happy, but Jinyoung can see through him. Jinyoung knows how a traitor smiles. 

“Boss, boss -- here’s the fucking snake. He came to finish you off.” 

Bambam finally notices them, starts shaking his head. 

“Jackson sent the guys out,” he says. He sounds desperate, as if he’s pleading for his life, and Jinyoung finally takes note of the line of blood on his arm. He’s been shot, he realizes. His whole body seems to tremble in pain. “I came when I found out. Yugyeom was with them -- Yugyeom and Brian. They were waiting to catch you off guard.” 

Jaebum looks between Yugyeom and Bambam. The air hardens around him, as if tensing along with him, just as confused, just as knotted. 

Then Jaebum says, “Jinyoung. Shoot.” 

“What?!”

“You should know who’s lying.”

Jinyoung looks to where his gun is pointed: he tries to find that spark in Yugyeom’s eyes again, that secret, that plan to murder someone but what he finds is a scared kid. His eyes, though cold, look young, so young. Jinyoung isn’t so sure anymore, so he panics, aims his gun at Bambam then back at Yugyeom. 

Then a shot rings in the air, but it doesn’t come from his gun, or Jaebum’s, or Bambam’s, or even Yugyeom’s. It comes from outside and Bambam slumps and falls forward on the floor. A silence sits in the air, eerie and tense as every eye flocks to the door and the night that spills in from outside with the call of crickets and the ocean breeze and Jinyoung, already hopeful, already near tears, thinks,  _Mark is finally here._


	5. Chapter 5

Mark steps inside with a gun raised. He looks untouched, as though he hasn’t struggled, as if he’s just changed into the dark Interpol uniform. As if he’s just thrown on some black gloves, a bulletproof vest. As if this whole mess, this whole night, were just another simulation done for practice. 

And Jinyoung, already drinking in the sight of him, intoxicated by a few seconds of his presence, runs forward. 

“Mark!” he yells, but after a step, Jaebum grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks him back. He nearly falls, but Jaebum wraps an arm around his neck, tightens his grip -- not enough to choke, but enough to hold him into place. Jinyoung can’t tear his eyes away from Mark, even after he feels the barrel of Jaebum’s gun against his skull. 

Mark looks their way, points his gun. His eyes are wide, as if surprised to see them all there, but Jinyoung knows that everything Mark has ever done is meticulous and planned. There are no errors under his rule, not until tonight. 

And Jinyoung feels both scared and thrilled when adrenaline gushes through his blood. When it makes him nothing more than a body that feels rather than a mind that thinks. He doesn’t have the capacity to wonder how Mark has found them, or how he’s arrived unscathed, with no sign of combat. He doesn’t wonder about all of Jaebum’s men posted around the small safehouse or how they let Mark through without question. 

All he thinks of is Mark -- all he thinks of is the years he’s known him, all the emotions are rooted in them. They try to surface now to remind him of who Jinyoung really is, before Jaebum, before the mafia, before this assignment. Before their rebellion. Jaebum starts to feel like a stranger. 

“Let him go!” Mark yells but Jaebum doesn’t answer him. 

“Yugyeom, go back into the kitchen.” 

“But--”

“Now!” Jaebum has gone back to his usual mode of leadership and Jinyoung starts to struggle, thinks to kick his legs, to bite Jaebum’s arm but all he’s able to do is watch Yugyeom slowly walk past them and into the small kitchen. Brian’s body still bleeds from the floor, and one look at Bambam and he knows he’s gone. So many deaths in such a small house, he thinks, this must be hell, must be a punishment, but Mark has arrived and it’s all been worth it. 

He only wishes it would be different, wishes it would have been him holding Jaebum at gunpoint so he could push him forward, so he could trip him, deliver him bruised and beaten and begging on the ground. 

“Here he is,” Jinyoung would say and kick Jaebum in the side, “Here’s the bastard that killed your father.” 

He wonders if they would go back, then. If Jaebum’s arrest would reverse all the pain and if the years would peel back, layer by layer, so that Mark would go back to being who he was when they first met. Sweet and quiet, opening doors for Jinyoung, pulling out his chair for him, making him laugh before they slept on the mattress on the floor of their first apartment. Wonders if they could go back to that simple life, without the pain, without the bruising. Without having to fear Mark's fits of rage, without having to feel so afraid. 

But in the midst of his daydream, Mark moves aside, steps back. He doesn’t leave, no, but someone else comes in behind him. Right before Jinyoung is going to kick himself free, Jackson steps inside, his gun already pointed at Jaebum. 

The look in his eyes tells Jinyoung that Jackson’s going to shoot but Mark stops him. The way they look at each other, somewhat familiar, already aware of their body language, makes Jinyoung wish Jackson had taken the shot. 

“Hold on, he’s going to kill him--” 

“Who fucking cares?!” 

They start to argue, but Jinyoung can no longer hear words. All he hears is noise, and even that sounds far away, too. All he sees is shapes moving: Jackson pushing Mark and Mark pushing back; them wrestling over Jackson’s gun until it falls and rattles. Jinyoung hears it as echoes, as if he’s underwater and seeing the world from behind layers and layers of thick, blinding light. He feels dizzy suddenly -- how do they know each other?

In their commotion, Jaebum raises his gun. With him, there’s no hesitation, no second of doubt. He shoots, aims it so that Mark’s arm lights up with a dark indent of red. Jinyoung, still feeling submerged, his world pulsing slowly around him, almost sees the skin tear apart, almost traces the black bullet slipping cleanly into pale skin. Mark starts yelling, Jackson starts reaching for his gun, but by that time, Jaebum is already dragging Jinyoung back and into the kitchen. He tosses their bodies on the ground, behind the small counter. Yugyeom is already reaching his arm over it and shooting blindly, trying to save them some time. 

“Jinyoung, go outside,” Jaebum mutters, feeling around the kitchen for something else to shoot with, “Keep walking straight and you’ll find a scout. Wait for me there.”

Jinyoung hears his voice, but can’t make sense of it. He can almost see the words float between them, staring at him, teasing him. He’s too stunned to do much, too dazed to do anything but sit there and stare blankly in Jaebum’s direction. He feels numb, too numb. Empty, too. 

Then Jaebum slaps him and it’s the stinging reminder he needs to wake up. His hands fly to his cheek and he can almost make out the imprint of Jaebum’s fingers. Slowly, the world returns to him. 

“Go outside, find the scout!” Jaebum is yelling now, holds a much bigger gun in his hands, “When I tell you to go, do it! Do you understand?!” 

Jinyoung nods and they take a moment to stare at each other. The house has become quiet as both sides wait for the standstill to end. Only the ringing in his ear remains and it mixes with the echo of Jaebum’s voice. It makes a haunting melody, one that makes Jinyoung want to cry, that makes him want to scream, but all he does is hold his breath when Jaebum grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a rough kiss. And even though their teeth crash together, almost cut his lip open, even though it’s short and messy and crooked and anything but smooth, Jinyoung feels safe. 

Before they’re even done, he feels Jaebum start to yell again. Feels the words as hot breaths against his mouth.

“Go, go, go, go!” He grips Jinyoung’s neck again, but this time he pushes him towards the door by the fridge, metal and swung open. 

“Go!” he yells again, and Jinyoung starts to run. But right as he makes it through the door, he turns around, catches sight of Jaebum standing upright so that his entire torso is exposed over the counter before he starts to shoot. After the gunshots resume, Jinyoung doesn’t look back.

 

He walks for what seems like miles, heads towards the trees, the only place that the moon doesn’t expose every shiver of movement. But the more he walks, the more he gets lost, and he no longer knows what way is straight, or where Jaebum has told him to go. 

He feels numb again, but for different reasons: he’s sure his feet are blistered, sure his legs are bleeding from falling into so many bushes, sure his body’s about to collapse so he leans against a tree and closes his eyes. 

That’s when he feels the gun at the back of his neck. His eyes fly open, then he hears a small voice telling him to walk.

Jinyoung raises his arms by instinct when he steps forward, but as he does, he notices the tremble in the gun, just slight, barely there. They're hesitating, he thinks, they're thinking it through. It’s enough to give him the confidence to lean his head to the side and pull the gun forward. He grips the wrist holding it, pulls on the arm until their weight is flush against his back. Then he pries the gun away from the hand, flips the body over in a quick thrust. 

Even though the trees cover most of the moonlight, slivers of it still slip through and skate on the floor, light it up in patches. With the gun in his hands, Jinyoung’s body awakens again, but this time he no longer thinks of others, no longer wonders about Mark, no longer worries about Jaebum. He thinks only of himself -- of survival. All he needs is a gun, he thinks, to get out of this mess. He has a few contacts, enough to get him off the island, enough to hide him until it all blows over. All he needs is one more death for him to escape. 

He points his gun at the body on the ground, and when it wriggles, when it squirms into the moonlight, Jinyoung’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Jaebum?” he asks, but after a second he starts to see the difference: the boy looks much younger, his features less sharp. His eyes are rounded, so wide that Jinyoung can see the tops of the forest swimming in them. Their lips are different, too: Jaebum’s had been thin, and this boy has fat, pretty lips. 

“No,” the boy says, scared. He lifts his hands up and shows his palms and Jinyoung hesitates again. 

“Stand up,” he says, “Who are you?”

The boy scrambles to his feet, nearly trips over himself. 

“I’m Hyunjin,” he breathes, looks more panicked standing up, “I’m just keeping watch.” 

Jinyoung glares at him for another second, then lowers his gun. He finds too many traces of Jaebum in Hyunjin to shoot, too many reminders. The worry sprouts again, but he keeps it hidden behind tight lips, behind dead eyes. 

“Let’s fucking wait,” Jinyoung says, tosses Hyunjin his gun back. Hyunjin barely catches it and Jinyoung shakes his head. 

“So this is all the fucking backup I get.” 

 

They don’t have to wait long. No more than an hour later, they hear rustling, and they both prickle up. Heavy panting fills the air, then a large, clumsy body crashes through some bushes and it’s difficult not to recognize Yugyeom’s body sprawled on the floor. Jinyoung’s eyes are wide the entire time until he’s sure Yugyeom isn’t hurt, just tired. 

“Barely got out,” he says, catching his breath, and it takes all of Jinyoung’s strength not to kill him right there. Somehow, he thinks, everything went wrong with his arrival. Instead, he lingers around his shape, tries not to get close.

“Where’s Jaebum?” 

Yugyeom swallows and his neck ripples with shadows. He looks down, then, and Jinyoung’s heart sinks so low that it beats in his stomach, punches him there until he feels nauseous. He reaches over to grab Hyunjin’s shoulder before he falls. 

“He said to wait for him,” Yugyeom says, “Until two. If he’s not here by then, he told me to take you to the harbor. He said to get you out.” 

Jinyoung, before he knows it, is shaking his head. 

“Do you have a watch?” he asks and Yugyeom shows him his wrist. Jinyoung nearly tears it off, desperate to twist it and see -- less than an hour left. Less than an hour for Jaebum to walk into the small clearing with his cocky walk and his flashy gun and those eyes, dark and lustrous. Imagining them, Jinyoung is sure they would shine in the moonlight. He’s sure that he could see him a mile away, even in the pitch black -- Jaebum is unreal, he thinks. Someone made up, someone out of a movie. Dangerous and conniving, but alive, he hopes, utterly alive.

He looks away from Yugyeom, away from Hyunjin. He looks away from their tiny scene to stare into the trees. Only the dark looks back at him. 

 

He hides the watch when the hour’s about to strike two. He slips it into his pocket, not that Yugyeom or Hyunjin notice. Hyunjin sits on a large rock, his body bent over, as if fighting off sleep. From time to time, his body will shake and he’ll stand up, awake as ever. Yugyeom does the opposite: he simply stares at the ground, only sways occasionally. 

Jinyoung refuses to sit down. Instead he paces, always careful to be silent, to be cautious of his surroundings. But when the watch tells him it’s two, he stands up, starts to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” Yugyeom asks. 

“To piss,” he tosses back, doesn’t let on that he’s taken a gun and slipped it into his pants. Doesn’t let on that he’s going to start walking, that he’s not going to stop until he knows where Jaebum is. Until he finds his body, dead or alive, it no longer matters. But right when he’s about to exit the clearing, when he’s about to continue his struggle through wild brush and trees, he hears some rustling. 

It’s a slow rustle, sounds like a heartbeat racing through the scattered forest. Jinyoung thins his eyes, tries to see into the dark but all he finds is that it stares back, as if watching him, too. As if it’s alive, waiting to swallow him alive. The more he looks, the more he can make out shapes. 

He sees a square in the distance, probably from another clearing where the moonlight spills in. He sees the outline of a nest and low-hanging fruit and then he sees two circles, barely there, dark with a small shine. Below is slanted triangle full of tiny little glimmers. 

When he recognizes it as teeth -- a macabre smile -- it’s already twisting, already forming words. But Jinyoung is quick. He pulls out his gun props it in front of him. 

He hears Yugyeom and Hyunjin stand behind him. 

Then, no louder than the footfall of an animal, comes a whisper. 

“Bambi.” 

Jaebum falls forward all at once, but slowly. He seems to hold on until the last second. His forehead rests against Jinyoung’s shoulder for a moment, his neck twisting, his lips fit into one last smile before he stumbles on the ground. He falls like he’s nothing more than a pile of bones and skin, and by how tattered his clothes are, he just might be.

In the dim moonlight, he shines, and Jinyoung realizes too late it’s because of blood -- a thick line on his leg, fresh splatters on his arm. Even his smile, on a closer look, is outlined in red. 

He almost screams at the gore but seeing Jaebum so battered makes him calm and focused.

“Pick him up,” he whispers, then yells, “Pick him up!” 

Hyunjin and Yugyeom follow his command and they each fit one of Jaebum’s arms on their shoulders. Jaebum’s head hangs low, and Jinyoung wonders if he’s alive until his entire body shakes with a cough. 

“What are we going to do?” Yugyeom asks, and it takes a second for Jinyoung to notice that the question is for him. Even Hyunjin looks at him expectantly. 

Jinyoung looks at both of them, takes a breath. His entire body swarms with energy, something between panic and pain and hope. 

“I know someone,” Jinyoung says, “Someone who might help.” 

 

They wander for two miles before Jinyoung starts to recognize the lay of the land and starts leading in the right way. Jaebum shows occasional signs of being conscious, but those usually melt into groaning, some mewling, then he goes back to hanging his head and dragging his feet. They stay in the shadows most of the time, avoid roads, avoid open spaces. Then the trees start to clear away and the mountains grow larger, the ocean sounds closer. 

By the time they find their destination, Jaebum’s body has gone slack except for the low, deep breaths. Jinyoung worries, still, but seeing the home -- small with quiet music wafting from the window -- gives him some relief. He steps ahead of them, rushing to have preparations made for Jaebum.

He knocks on the door once. A few seconds later, Doyoung swings it open. 

His smile, even after years, is still the same: too wide, with too small teeth. Gums that peek out at the sides, eyes that almost disappear, but he looks as genuine as ever. Still as awkward, still as open. 

“Jinyoung!” he says, “You quit the Interpol and go rogue and you’re  _ barely  _ stopping by?” 

Doyoung doesn’t seem to notice the blood, or Jinyoung’s state -- or if he does, he shows no signs of it. He even opens his door wider, as if Jinyoung has always looked this way. 

“I need help,” Jinyoung says, smiling, too, though the shape is hard to maintain on his lips. Doyoung makes it look easy, grinning as he nods, looking thin and frail in an oversized tropical shirt. 

“Anything, buddy,” he says, “Anything for you. You need to hide out? Need drugs? Need hacking? I got you covered…”

His voice trails off, and his smile falls apart. His eyes widen for a second before they thin, again, this time out of anger. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Jinyoung follows his gaze and finds Yugyeom and Hyunjin limping forward, dragging Jaebum along. 

“No,” he says again, louder this time, “No, no! No! Jinyoung -- do you know who that is?! Fuck, no! Get him away from here.” 

Something scampers in Jinyoung’s chest -- something fearful, something cold.

“Doyoung,” he pleads, realizes that his voice is close to cracking. His eyes tear up, too, and he’s left confused as to where all this emotion comes from. His voice is small again, hiding in his throat, in the lining of his neck. He looks to Jaebum, then Doyoung. “Please, he needs help -- please. I-I don’t know where else to go, Mark was supposed to--”

“Mark?!” Doyoung looks properly angry now, shaking his head. His hands have tightened into fists, and for a second Jinyoung thinks he might swing at him. He wishes he would -- he deserves punishment, deserves to suffer. So much time walking has made him realize that this has all been his fault. That disaster and death seem to orbit around him. But he stands his ground, if only for Jaebum. 

“Are you fucking stupid, Jinyoung?! After all he fucking did?! You still went through with his stupid plan?” Doyoung takes a step back, grips the door, ready to slam it closed. “He’s been fucking using you for years -- why the fuck did you go through?! You’re stupid, Jinyoung, so fucking stupid.” 

Doyoung’s fist trembles, as if the rage were trying to escape through his fingers. Jinyoung can only stare, his eyes full of tears. He feels naked, feels bared. There’s nothing left for him to do than beg.

“Please,” he says, “Just help him out. Don’t let him die.”

Then, quietly, he says, “Please? For me?” 

Doyoung still looks pissed, his body still tight with fury, but he glances towards Jaebum. 

“He’s really fucked up,” he mutters, then heaves a sigh. He turns around and snaps his fingers, tells them to follow. “Let’s go downstairs.” 

The house is small, feels smaller with so many bodies inside but Doyoung pulls a rug out of the way and runs his fingers over the dirt floor until they catch on a small metal ring. He steps around it, tugs it open. A wooden door swings open, reveals cement stairs, narrow and steep. 

“Quickly,” Doyoung says over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen, “Before I change my mind. The world would be a better place without that fucking prick.” 

Jinyoung wipes the tears away from his eyes and makes Yugyeom hurry. Jaebum is no longer conscious, nothing more than a body that Hyunjin and Yugyeom hand between each other. Slowly, they descend down the stairs and a light flickers on. Jinyoung looks at Doyoung one last time as he rummages through cabinets, then he, too, disappears downstairs. 

 

Downstairs there are two rooms, and Doyoung chooses the smaller of the two to treat Jaebum, and out of the three men, he chooses Hyunjin to help him out.

Jinyoung and Yugyeom have to wait outside the room. They sit on metal chairs, awaiting the diagnosis, completely in silence save for the occasional flicker of the bulb hanging above them. After what feels like hours, Hyunjin emerges, nodding slowly. Jinyoung jumps from his chair and heads to the room.

There’s a single bed pressed against one wall. Opposite of it is a cabinet, small, too, but stocked with cans of food. When he goes inside, Doyoung is throwing his things back into bag.

“He’s lucky,” he says, looking up at Jinyoung for a second, “He’s just exhausted. He’ll live, for sure. It looks more dramatic than it is.”

And each word strikes Jinyoung with a fresh wave of relief until he’s sure he’ll be overwhelmed, until he’s sure he might cry out of joy and it confuses him -- he starts to lose his identity, again. Starts to blur the boundaries between what’s real, between what’s not. He tries to think of Mark’s face again as an anchor but it seems like he’d seen him years ago. Like the beginning of the night happened a decade ago, at least. He breathes, though, and breathes deeply, enough to calm down, enough to go sit on the end of the bed without collapsing. 

“Good,” he breathes and looks up at Doyoung. 

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Jinyoung,” he says, “But you better start getting yourself out. You’re not playing with cats and dogs, anymore. You’re playing with lions and fucking wolves.”

“I know what I’m doing--”

Doyoung cuts him off. “No, you fucking don’t. You never did. As long as you follow Mark, you’re going to end up on the wrong side, that’s if he hasn’t screwed you over yet.” 

Jinyoung’s body tenses, but he doesn’t answer him. He simply looks at the light, at the wall, then his eyes fall on Jaebum. He sleeps on his side, looks peaceful with his arm wrapped in a bandage, his thigh, too. The rest of him is nude, but finally clean. An angel bathed in sweat. 

“Taeil has a shipment leaving at dawn,” Doyoung mentions before he steps outside, “You better be there on time if you want to leave. That’s the only way I can help you. Get some rest before then.” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he closes the door after he leaves, leaves Jinyoung and Jaebum alone. 

Jinyoung keeps looking at Jaebum, but he feels guilty, feels responsible, so instead he starts to look around the room, tries to distract himself. But every time his eyes close, even if for a second, he sees Mark’s face again, then Jackson’s. Sometimes he sees Brian’s -- his eyes too wide, his mouth split open. A shudder runs up his spine, and out of habit, he looks at Jaebum for comfort. 

And when he does, he’s met with Jaebum’s gaze. He looks tired, but awake, painfully so. When their eyes meet, Jaebum shifts in bed, sits up. Only one of his arms is wrapped in a bandage. The other props him up, helps him balance until his back is pressed against the wall. 

None of them speak until Jaebum clears his throat, licks his lips. 

“Who’s Mark?” 

Jinyoung doesn’t answer, just plays with his fingers, avoids Jaebum’s eyes. 

He expects this to be the end of the question but Jaebum, still struggling, still wincing in pain, manages to sit up straight and swing his leg over the bed and get close to Jinyoung, close enough that Jinyoung stands, startled. 

“Who the fuck is Mark?” Jaebum says again. His jaw is pushed forward and he stands, too, and limps towards Jinyoung. By instinct, Jinyoung grabs a gun and points it at Jaebum. His hands, though, are shaking, and he realizes too late that he’s still crying. 

“What? You want to shoot me? Then fucking do it. Kill me. Bury the bullet right here.” 

Jaebum steps forward until he can snatch the barrel of Jinyoung’s gun. He lifts it and presses it right against his forehead. His eyes look dark, and unlike what Jinyoung had imagined, they don’t shine, they don’t look glimmer. They look deep, though, and endless -- a flat black that has no form, that look like wells without a bottom. He looks dead. 

“Shoot me!” Jaebum yells, “Fucking shoot me!” 

They keep staring at each other, and the more they do, the more Jinyoung’s hand trembles until he lets the gun fall between them. It clatters against the tile floor and Jinyoung watches it fall, watches it bounce then settle. When he looks up, Jaebum is still looking at him. His eyes still terrify him, send a chill up his spine, but something about it makes him warm, too. Makes him want Jaebum, here, in this room, with their lives on the line. 

But aren’t they always one wrong move from dying?

Jinyoung leans in, slow, but Jaebum has other plans. He pushes his mouth forward, clumsy and forceful and rough and their teeth press together. They kiss, but Jinyoung cuts it off with a whine because Jaebum bites down on his lip, bites down until it hurts, until Jinyoung forgets pleasure and until he tastes his own blood. Only then do they pull away and Jinyoung licks the blood in his mouth and then Jaebum snakes his good arm behind him to grab the hair at his nape. He pulls until Jinyoung’s neck arches, until the sting swims down his spine and he mewls. Then he feels teeth on him, sinking into his jaw, his neck, the space under his ear, the patch above his collarbones. 

He feels the rough scratch of bandage, too, as Jaebum winces and rips off Jinyoung’s shirt, almost too easily. Then his teeth are on him again, biting into his shoulder, leaving marks and what feel like bruises rushing to the surface of his skin. Pleasure returns, but in flickers. Jinyoung tries to find them between the bites, between the fingers that tighten their grip on his hair. The hard wall behind him, Jaebum’s cock pressing against his stomach as his entire weight seems to fall on him. 

Then Jaebum pulls away in one stroke. He still looks angry, still looks dangerous. 

“Get your clothes off,” he says, “Strip down and get on the bed.” 

His voice sounds heavy in the air, seems to hammer the empty spaces. It sounds like a command, and Jinyoung takes it as one. His fingers are clumsy as he slips off his shorts and lets the shirt fall and pulls down his underwear to kick it off his feet. The only thing on his mind is Jaebum -- still sweating, still wincing in pain as he watches Jinyoung undress. But there’s something else in his gaze, some hunger hiding in the folds of his rage. 

Jaebum glistens in the dim lighting, body wet, cock already hard and gently curved and swaying between his legs when he turns and faces the bed. Then Jinyoung looks away and he settles on top of the covers and gets on all fours. He looks forward, at the wall, and waits for whatever comes. 

There is no preparation this time, no sweet words, no gentle care. He only hears the sound of Jaebum spitting and then he feels his hands pry his cheeks open. Then comes his cock, nearly dry, only moist and it drags in his walls, and it burns, makes him feel raw, makes each pulse painful and Jinyoung leans forward to bite at the pillow. Jaebum pushes until his cock is buried inside of Jinyoung, his entrance red and stretched out, still clenching from the intrusion. 

Jaebum doesn’t move -- not yet -- but instead he slides his hand down Jinyoung’s back and when Jinyoung almost melts into his touch, almost loses the strength in his legs, almost loses himself to the dreamy slickness of it all, Jaebum jolts him back to reality. He spanks him hard enough that his thighs almost give out and his lips part. He means to scream, but the sound gets caught in his throat, and all that comes out is a hoarse breath. Then comes another spank, just as hard, right on the same spot and Jinyoung’s eyes tear up, but he deserves it -- he knows he deserves it, knows he needs to be punished. Even without rings, Jinyoung can feel the indents start to form on his skin, first stinging, then numb, then a dull pulse. Handprints engraved into his skin. 

And with every spank, his entire body topples forward until he has to lift his hands and press them against the wall so his head won’t slam into it. And with every spank, too, Jaebum’s cock slips out and he has to align himself again and slip it in roughly, pushes to the hilt each time and that makes Jinyoung’s stomach twist, too, until his walls start to get used to it, until they moisten and he learns to crave the rough drag of Jaebum's cock and the pain that comes with it. 

Then Jaebum’s voice swims into his ears, asking, angrily, “Is this how Mark fucks you?” 

He parts his lips, means to answer, but Jaebum slips his cock out again and slams it back into him and Jinyoung loses his voice. He gasps, instead, as his body tries to recover, but just as he comes to his senses, Jaebum does it again -- pulls out to slam back in. Jinyoung's ass jiggles and his walls clench, seem to want to hold Jaebum in place. Each thrust feels like a crash, like a burst of tiny sparks, and Jinyoung starts to go numb, starts to lose his sense of body, where he begins, where he ends. All he feels is the warm sweat that makes their slide so much easier and that blends their skin into each other. He can only tell himself apart because each slam of Jaebum’s hips against his ass brings a light sting, a sudden heat and then a deep cool. 

“Does he fuck you like this, Bambi? Does he fuck you this rough, huh?” 

He can’t possibly answer, not when Jaebum’s cock keeps filling him, not when his legs start to lose their strength so he has to lay flat on his stomach. So that his own cock, aching and red, already leaking, already desperate for release has to rub against the sheets with each of Jaebum’s thrusts. Then Jaebum is propping himself up with his good arm and he fucks him into the bed, fucks him until Jinyoung’s toes curl and he feels alive -- utterly alive. Until his nerves all flock to bundle that Jaebum’s cock keeps brushing against, that center buried deep inside that only Jaebum seems to find, time after time. It warms him, feels like tiny little sparks that climb up his back, that reach wider and wider each time until they become a pulse between his legs. 

He cums untouched but Jaebum doesn’t stop fucking him, doesn’t even slow so each rub against the sheets makes his cock more sensitive and he clenches tighter with each passing second. He twitches, too, and Jaebum finally slows, finally takes note. 

Jinyoung has his eyes closed, his fingers gripping the sheets. He’s still full of Jaebum, and the sudden pause makes him needy, makes him crave it. Without Jaebum’s movement, the pain becomes too real and immediate so his hips grind back lazily. He lifts his ass as best as he can, moves it in a circle so he can feel Jaebum’s cock press against his walls. So he can feel Jaebum stretch him open. 

From one second to the next, Jaebum collapses forward. His weight is heavy, but comfortable. Jaebum snakes his arm around Jinyoung’s waist, presses a hand against his chest. His teeth sink into Jinyoung’s shoulders and his stomach presses against his back. The room feels too hot, too overwhelming, but Jinyoung doesn’t dare to move. Instead he lets himself get fucked slow and careful, pays attention to Jaebum inside of him, tries to imagine the head of his cock moving against his walls and stretching them. Then he loses himself to the warm friction of skin, the prickle of Jaebum's pubes right above his ass, his chest expanding with each breath against his back. He loses himself to the kisses Jaebum leaves under his ears, the way he whispers, “You’re fucking mine, Bambi. Only fucking mine.” 

Then Jaebum's cum shoots up inside of Jinyoung, but Jaebum doesn’t stop fucking into him. Even when his stroke gets slow and lazy, even when he’s barely moving at all, already soft, he keeps moving his hips. By now, Jinyoung is a whimpering mess. His ass keeps twitching, clenching just to loosen -- he's overstimulated, his body is confused. All he knows is that the wet fucking, complete with the squelch and the leaking cum, makes him feel impossibly warm. 

Jaebum stops all at once, pulls out with a grunt, then flops down next to Jinyoung. He lays on his back, looks tired, looks exhausted, and Jinyoung remembers the wounds again. Blood starts to leak past one of the bandages, but Jaebum doesn’t mind. And even if Jinyoung feels the cum leaking out of his entrance and in between his thighs, he doesn’t bother to clean up. Not now -- not when the night catches up to him, and he feels his body start to fall under.

"Jaebum," Jinyoung whispers, leans forward on shaky arms to leave a quiet kiss on Jaebum's shoulder. 

He wraps an arm around Jinyoung, pulls him close so that Jinyoung's face is pressed against his chest. Then, quietly, he whispers, "Bambi." 

The last thing Jinyoung remembers is Jaebum’s eyes: no longer dark, or endless. Something shines in them. They look peaceful. 

 

He wakes up twice, and both times to Doyoung. At first, Doyoung only walks inside the room to administer medicine. Jaebum takes it begrudgingly, then goes back to sleep, and Jinyoung leans in closer to him, leans in until Jaebum wraps an arm around his middle, until his chest is pressed against his back and he can feel Jaebum’s heartbeat flush against him. Jaebum spoons him, fits a thigh between his and it’s the only time that Jinyoung feels safe enough to sleep. Waking life feels unreal, like a dream. 

The second time he wakes up, Doyoung is rustling him awake. He looks anxious and nervous. 

“Take this,” he says, handing Jinyoung a gun, “Someone’s at the door. If something happens, get out. Taeil’s still waiting for you.” 

Jinyoung has no time to process anything before Doyoung is already stepping out of the room and climbing the stairs. Jinyoung leaps up and out of the bed, grips the gun tight, opens the door and steps into the shared room. He points the gun at the hatch. Doyoung closes it, then Jinyoung hears Doyoung pull the rug over it. 

Then he notices Hyunjin and Yugyeom -- they look uncomfortable, and Jinyoung remembers he’s naked, but the fear in their eyes is more powerful. Their eyes are stuck to the hatch. 

Through the floor, they hear the loud pounding, then the door swinging open. Doyoung’s voice, bright and cheery, sinks through into the room, but they can’t make out the words. 

Then silence. For minutes, there’s nothing but silence. Then there’s more talking, then footsteps. They stray away from the door, head towards the kitchen, then back to the living room. Jinyoung’s eyes travel around the roof and follow the sound as it circles right above them. 

Gunshots follow. Only two at first, then the gargled sound of someone trying to breathe, trying to talk through a gush of blood in their throat. Then comes another shot -- a mercy kill. Then they hear a body being dragged across the room, tossed in a corner. 

Jinyoung swallows, then stops breathing when the steps hover over the rug. They step over the hatch once, twice, then stomp on it. Then someone moves the rug. 

The metal ring on the hatch rattles, once, twice. Then another batch of silence.

Jinyoung's heart races -- it pounds against his chest like a bird trying to escape its cage, pecking its way towards freedom. 

Then the rustle resumes and the hatch flies open. 


	6. Chapter 6

Jinyoung shoots twice when the hatch opens, but he hears Doyoung yelling so he pauses. Even when Doyoung peeks his head in, he keeps the gun pointed. 

“It’s me, dumbass,” he yells and Jinyoung has never been as relieved as he is now. Doyoung steps down the stairs, wipes at the splatters of blood on his sleeve. Then he snaps his fingers and points to where Hyunjin is, cowering in the corner. “You, kid. Help me clean this mess up. It was one of your little friends.” 

Then he snaps his fingers again and points to Jinyoung. 

“And you, put some fucking clothes on. The other room has some running water and soap, too. Get cleaned up. I called Taeil, we’re leaving soon. Make sure to get your little boyfriend, too.” 

He walks back upstairs and Hyunjin follows and Jinyoung is left to look down, to notice where bits of blood have clung to his skin, and a streak of dirt wraps around one of his calves. He’s never been this dirty, he thinks, has never been this grimy. Dating Jaebum for a year had meant never lifting a finger, and it had meant only the finest things could touch him: loose robes, silk shirts, expensive leather, gold rings. Even Jaebum’s fingers are unbelievably soft, feel like velvet on his skin.

Jinyoung heaves a sigh, then notices Yugyeom to the side. Yugyeom looks at him without fear, without surprise. That glimmer is still there, but Yugyeom hides it well. Hides it behind the dark of his eyes, behind a blank gaze that says nothing more than he has to. Jinyoung nods and Yugyeom nods back before he follows Hyunjin and Doyoung up the stairs. 

 

 

He fills two buckets with water and puts soap in one, then returns to the room, swings the door open and Jaebum is in the center with a gun pointed at the door. The moment he sees Jinyoung, he lowers it. His entire body slackens, and that’s when Jinyoung notices the tremble in his leg and the thin trickle of blood. 

“Jaebum,” he whispers and Jaebum almost smiles, at least tries to. Instead, though, he sits back on the bed, still naked save for the bandage around his thigh, another around his arm. His gun drops on the wrinkled sheet next to him. 

“Jaebum, you should be resting.” 

“Who was that?” 

“Someone followed us here,” he says, “Doyoung took care of it.” 

“They won’t stop looking.” 

“Doyoung is getting us out of here. He said to get cleaned up.” Jinyoung leaves the buckets by the bed. He looks through the drawers and finds a small towel and a washcloth. He leaves those by the bed, too. Then he stands in silence, too afraid to look in Jaebum’s direction, too afraid to look away. His eyes wander over the shapes of Jaebum’s body: the broad shoulders, a neat line, and the thick neck; his frame, though tired and crumpled, still holds some pride; his thighs look big, bigger now splayed against the bed. Even with a few scrapes, even with dried blood on his skin, even in the murky lighting of a drab room beneath a small wooden home, he looks expensive. 

Then Jaebum turns and looks at him and Jinyoung looks away. His eyes fall to his feet. 

“I should go,” he says, steps closer to Jaebum to pick his underwear off the ground and his shorts. But once there, Jaebum grabs his wrist. 

“Stay,” he says. A beat later, he adds, “I can’t clean myself alone.” 

And so they share a look before Jaebum leans back in the bed and Jinyoung goes to wet a washcloth with soapy water in silence. Jaebum closes his eyes, stretches his legs, and Jinyoung is careful to gently straddle his stomach. Then he takes one of Jaebum’s arms, the one with the wound, and gently wipes around the bandage. The closer he gets to it, the more Jaebum hardens under him. His chest tightens at first, then his jaw pushes out with a sigh. His eyes close and his eyebrows push together and when Jinyoung dabs around the edge of the bandaging, his stomach tenses and Jinyoung feels it under his thighs, feels his body press against his ass, almost like a caress. Then he wipes the washcloth down his arm, to his wrist, cleans the back of his hand then lets it go. 

Jaebum rests his hand on Jinyoung’s thigh and rubs it gently and the room feels a hundred degrees warmer, like an oven, and Jaebum’s fingers almost burn Jinyoung’s skin. Then Jaebum relaxes and lets go of the breath he holds, and Jinyoung feels that, too. He feels Jaebum’s stomach rise and fall, lifting Jinyoung’s hips just enough, just slightly. 

Then he inches backward until, feels Jaebum’s cock against his ass, already hard. He feels the tip brush against his lower back, but he doesn’t react, not yet. Instead he takes his time cleaning Jaebum’s shoulder, wiping the cloth over his chest, over his nipples. Jaebum flinches at the first, and at the second his cock twitches and it taps on Jinyoung’s back. It takes all his strength not to turn around, not to stroke it, but he’s too enamored by details. There’s a small scar on Jaebum’s side, a thin scratch on his sternum, and countless moles. Jinyoung traces them with his finger, draws lines from one to the other, and when his finger travels lower to circle around Jaebum’s belly button, Jaebum breaks the silence. 

“I don’t care that you lied,” he says, quietly. It’s no louder than a whisper, and it makes his body tremble like a breath: his chest expands, his stomach rises. When he breathes out through his nose, the air reaches Jinyoung’s thighs; his cock starts to throb. 

“I don’t care that you lied,” he says, louder, “If you don’t lie again.” 

There is so much to talk about, so much left unsaid, that Jinyoung feels each word pile up in his stomach like stones. He tried to kill Jaebum earlier in the night, had betrayed him so openly, so desperately. And here he is, giving him a way out, giving him a new beginning. Jaebum keeps his eyes closed and Jinyoung is glad because he won’t see the tears that well up in his eyes and spill across his cheeks. His chest trembles with a muffled sob, but his thighs remain firm, give none of his emotion away. There is peace, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to disturb it. 

So he takes a few breaths, calms his body down, and thinks of a life with Jaebum. Maybe they would live in exile for some time, maybe Jaebum would step down. Maybe they would go to another island, and maybe their life would be waking up with the sunlight, making love on silk sheets, eating the most lavish foods. Maybe his life would be luxury cars and an expensive view of the sunset. 

And when he thinks of a life with Jaebum, he thinks of his life with Mark -- always in fear, always doubting, always working to have Mark’s love to himself, again. Always worried that Mark might fall into another spell of anger, that Jinyoung will be the one to bear it all alone. Always wishing they could go back to the old days when their couch folded out into a bed, when they dreamed of money, when they dreamed of power. When Mark promised him the stars and more. 

“I’m not who you think I am, Jaebum,” he whispers back. He keeps inching backwards as he wipes the tears away with the back of his hand. 

“I don’t care,” Jaebum says. His eyes remain closed, his body completely stilled except for the breaths that ride along his body. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” 

“Then tell me. We have time.” 

Jinyoung settles between Jaebum’s thighs and his feet spill over the edge of the small bed, and though he still feels guilty, he no longer cries. He no longer fears. A future with Jaebum, even the fantasy of it, is enough to soothe his nerves. To think someone so evil could be so sweet, could be so soft. That Jaebum can even be real, that Jaebum is even  _ possible _ , gives Jinyoung relief. It makes him believe in something as potent as religion, but as small as this humid room that makes them sweat. This room where their breaths cluster together and make it so much hotter and crammed, make them sweat so much that when Jinyoung runs his palms along Jaebum’s thighs, his fingers glide. 

Jaebum is no longer hard so Jinyoung takes his time kissing his thighs, spreading his legs. Even now, they look large with his palms pressed against their shape, kneading his skin, massaging it as small shadows form under his fingers. Jaebum starts to harden in small twitches, small tiny motions that make his cock sway from side to side as it fights to stay upright. Jinyoung steals glimpses as he kisses the inside of Jaebum’s thighs and breathes in the scent of sweat and stagnant air. He runs his tongue along the line of skin where his thigh and hips meet, licks up and over Jaebum’s balls. 

His entire body seems to shiver, and finally, his cock is erect and tall and Jinyoung licks a stripe up its length. Then he grabs it with his hand, takes the head between his lips. By now Jaebum’s eyes are half-open as he watches Jinyoung lick around his head, swirling his tongue before he licks the slit, licks it as if he wants to sneak his tongue inside and Jaebum’s jaw sticks out with a quiet groan. Then Jaebum puts a hand behind his neck and rests the other on Jinyoung’s head. His fingers tangle with his hair, but he doesn’t push or pull, doesn’t ask for anything and it’s Jinyoung that has to lower his head slowly. 

With each breath, he takes more of him in until his mouth is warm, too warm and too full, but he’s never felt anything lovelier. This is the man he wants more than anything else, the man who treats him like he’s gold, that makes him believe he’s worth something. This is the man he wishes he could spend his entire life with, and this is the man he can’t be with. 

When his nose brushes against the hair at the base of his cock, Jaebum tightens his grip in Jinyoung’s hair. It stings, but the pain is gentle and Jinyoung welcomes it. He moans, exaggerates it so that Jaebum’s stomach hardens as he feels each small vibration. And Jinyoung is sure he’s going to hold him in place and fuck his mouth but he pulls him off. Jinyoung almost gasps, looks up expectantly. He wraps his fingers around his cock again, tugs gently. His thumb traces the vein that throbs on its side. 

“Come sit up here,” Jaebum says, low and breathy, a bit raspy from where his neck is bent so he can see Jinyoung. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Turn around,” he says, “While you suck me off.” 

Jinyoung complies. He sits up on his knees and goes to straddle Jaebum’s chest, though this time he turns around so all he sees is Jaebum’s hips, his cock, his broad thighs and his legs stretched out over the bed. He leans forward until his stomach is flat against Jaebum’s, until his hips rub over the bottom of Jaebum’s chest, both covered in enough sweat that their heat blends into each other. Jaebum smooths his hands over the back of Jinyoung’s thighs, then grope his ass, pull open his cheeks to blow air at his rim so that shivers run up Jinyoung’s spine. So that his thighs twitch quietly.

“You’re even pretty here, Bambi,” he says, presses the pad of his thumb at his entrance and Jinyoung almost melts. He feels weak again, but this time he feels warm all over, too, like there’s molten liquid being poured over him.  

He goes back to lapping at Jaebum’s cock, stroking it when his mouth wraps around the tip. The more he does, the redder and warmer it gets. From this angle, it keeps pressing on the top of his mouth and scraping against his teeth but by the way Jaebum shudders, and by the way his thighs get tight and his hips push upwards, Jinyoung knows he enjoys it. 

And he knows, too, because Jaebum starts to finger him, almost desperately. From one short finger, Jaebum moves on to two, then three, until he’s trying to shove four fingers into him and Jinyoung seems to stretch endlessly to fit his touch. When the fourth one goes in, though, Jinyoung has to pull off Jaebum’s cock -- his eyes flit shut, and his head lowers until his forehead is pressed against Jaebum’s thigh and his cock, still in his hand, is pressed against his cheek. He feels cum smear against his face briefly before he goes numb. Everything feels hot, too hot, and everything burns, everything scalds. Jaebum seems insistent on trying to fit his whole hand inside of him and all Jinyoung can do is cry out, high-pitched sound -- needy whines, sounds of pain or pleasure, he isn’t sure. All he knows is he feels small around Jaebum’s fingers, feels small and tight when his knuckles are flush against his rim and his walls feel stretched open, impossibly so, and he’s sure his every single nerve in his body is pulsing, suddenly aware, suddenly alert. 

Jinyoung gasps when Jaebum spanks him, and he feels electric again. So alive, so full of sparks. His eyes flit open and he remembers Jaebum’s cock, still leaking against his chin. His fingers awaken and he starts to stroke again, quickly this time, just as impatient as Jaebum’s fingers. His eyebrows push together when Jaebum bends his fingers inside of him and he’s sure every single fiber in his body will burst but he tries to focus, tries to ignore the tears that spill out of his eyes, tries to ignore the fact that his legs have gone numb, that his arms are shaky. Tries to ignore everything but Jaebum’s cock, red and pulsing, as hot as embers against his palm. The head shines with cum and Jinyoung bends his neck to clean it with his tongue. When he does, though, Jaebum’s body tightens and his hips lift and he cums in spurts. Some of it splatters against Jinyoung’s lips, but most of it gets on the bed. 

Jaebum pulls out his fingers and Jinyoung almost whines, almost cries. He wants Jaebum inside of him, in any way, in any form so he starts to lick at his cock again. It twitches a few more times, leaks cum that slides down its side into Jinyoung’s fingers so he licks them clean first, then wraps his tongue around Jaebum’s cock. He swallows the rest of it, tries not to remove his lips -- he’s afraid of the rest spilling, so he stays there, even when Jaebum goes soft, even when he’s sure there’s enough cum inside his stomach. He can feel it there, that piece of Jaebum. 

Then Jaebum pats his thighs, and says, low, “Cum for me, Bambi.” 

Before Jinyoung can react, Jaebum’s hands are on his hips pulling him back. With an arm around Jinyoung’s middle, he pulls him until he is sitting up again. With his hand, he guides Jinyoung’s hips down. Then Jinyoung feels something warm against his entrance, something warm, something wet, and he realizes too late that Jaebum is tonguing his entrance. It’s too late because his neck bends and he leans back, settles his hips better over Jaebum’s face automatically. 

He’s slow at first, then they find a rhythm -- Jinyoung wiggling his hips slowly, Jaebum shoving his tongue as deep as he can. Jinyoung feels his nose press against his ass, feels his chin, but it’s that tongue that makes him melt. It’s that tongue that makes him cum almost as soon as Jaebum wraps short fingers around his cock. His body twitches once with bliss, then twice, but by the third the pain gets to him. His body feels heavy, heavy enough that he collapses forward with a lazy smile. His head makes it Jaebum’s thigh, their stomachs align, his cock pressed between them.. 

Then Jaebum slides his palms along the back of Jinyoung’s thighs, over the curve of his ass, even the small of his back. Jinyoung sensitive to his touch and at once he’s full of bliss -- the pain melts away and he feels numb, weightless. As if he’s flying on a cloud, somewhere in the sky. As if the room around them isn’t real, nor the wrinkled sheets under them, nor the mattress that squeaks as Jinyoung starts adjusting himself, ignoring the cum on his face, between his fingers, dripping from his stomach. Nothing is real except him and Jaebum, now settling into each other’s bodies again, tangling their legs. 

Jaebum wraps an arm around him, still out of breath. His eyes seem to shine, not with evil but with ecstasy. He smiles and Jinyoung’s stomach twists. The feeling of guilt returns. 

Because, after a year of dating, Jinyoung might be in love with him. 

 

 

Upstairs, Jinyoung steps into the kitchen, still pulling on a loose shirt. Doyoung is busy cleaning out a small fridge.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, closing the door, glancing at Jinyoung. His face twists into confusion. “You’re glowing.”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung says, “Jaebum should be up in a bit.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Doyoung says, heads to the small table in the kitchen. He sits on one of the old chair and it creaks beneath them. Everything is quiet except for the morning unfolding outside, complete with the chatter of birds, with a faded slant of sunlight. Doyoung stares at his hands, seems to consider something complex, something large. He avoids Jinyoung’s gaze. “Maybe he shouldn’t come.” 

Jinyoung’s stomach drops -- his knees get weak. Slowly, he shakes his head. “We can’t leave him, they’ll kill him on this island.” 

Finally, Doyoung looks up at him. His features are tense, his eyebrows pushing together gently. He looks angry. 

“Well, he made his bed. Now he can sleep in it.” 

“It’s not his fault, Doyoung. Me and Mark -- we set him up.” 

“Then you shouldn’t care about it, Jinyoung. I mean, you’re not making any sense. You set him up just to save him? Just ditch him, I’ll even tell Interpol you were the one to catch him when they come. They won’t chase you after that, I’ll make sure your name gets cleared.” 

“What do you mean  _ when  _ they come?! They’re not coming, Doyoung. This was all me and Mark -- they had nothing to do with it.” 

Doyoung looks back down, but says nothing. Instead he stretches his thin fingers over the table, seems enamored by their shape. Enough that he ignores Jinyoung, ignores the way his hands turn into fists that tremble, ignores the way he steps forward, the way he struggles to keep still. 

“I called them,” Doyoung says, finally, “If Mark is still on the island, I want them to catch him.” 

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“Look, Jinyoung…” Doyoung stands, tries to remain calm, but the fire remains in his eyes. Jinyoung knows it well -- he knows  _ Doyoung  _ well. The best of the best, Mark once said, but too soft. Cared too much, and still does. Doyoung shakes his head a little, then looks away, continues, “I’m looking out for you. Mark’s going to rat you out, anyway, and if you give up Jaebum, then they won’t come looking for you.” 

And on some level, it makes sense to clean himself of this mess. To forget Jaebum, to forget Mark. To go back to the life he knew, daydreaming, maybe teaching. Maybe there is another life out there -- calm, placid, like ripples in the water, always smoothing after enough time. 

But he knows he’s in too deep, and he knows he could never betray Mark. Could never betray Jaebum. So instead of calm, he rushes towards the opposite end. He rushes to the panic of the sea, the anger of waves. The restlessness of tides. He starts to rage. 

“Doyoung, what the fuck?! You have no right to do that -- you have no fucking right!” 

“Why not?! Mark is going to screw you over, screw him first! And what the fuck is your little mob boss going to do for you?! You don’t think he’s already thinking of how to kill you?! Stop being an idiot and grow up. This isn’t a fucking fantasy.” 

“Mark wouldn’t screw me over.” He sounds less mad, more doubtful. He feels torn at every seam, pulled in so many directions. There are so many hooks in his heart, so many tugs, so many tears. At this point, he’s sure he bleeds more than he feels. That his life will be nothing but a thin stream of pain. But he finds Doyoung’s eyes just the same, defies them with his own fire. “I wanted to help him.” 

“He’s  _ using  _ you, Jinyoung. He’s always used you!” 

“He said this was the last time, he just wanted to get even.” The more Jinyoung speaks, the quieter his voice gets. He feels himself getting closer to a limit, sinking deeper and deeper into a pit. Soon he’ll hit the bottom. Soon he’ll slam against the rocks. Soon he’ll be too far to ever come back to the light. He sounds scared. “This was the last time. He promised.” 

“Mark is not a good person, Jinyoung. And if you want to save him, then you can turn Jaebum in. Get yourself both off the hook, I don’t care -- I don’t care what you fucking do. I’m just going to get you out, and that’s it.” 

“No,” Jinyoung says, almost whispers. 

“No what?!”

“You shouldn’t have called them,” Jinyoung says, “You should have let it be.” 

“And see you get yourself killed?! You’re just letting yourself get dragged into Mark’s fantasies.”

“He just wanted to get even,” his hands tremble, though now for different reasons. Louder, he says, “You got to have your revenge, why can’t he?!”

At this, Doyoung prickles. He gets close, close enough that each time he breathes through his nose, Jinyoung feels the air against his chin. “Jisoo died trying to do the right thing. So I got back at them, and guess what? I left, I chose to come out here. I chose to live with Taeil and  _ forget  _ about the whole thing. Mark got his dad killed because he wanted to play mob boss. You better fucking realize that. You’re in a good position, Jinyoung. Turn them in, start living for yourself.” 

Doyoung turns around, heads back to the refrigerator. Outside, the birds sing, and Jinyoung feels hopeful.

“What do you think I should do?” 

“Honestly?” Doyoung pulls out some eggs and turns to the stove. “I would say fuck them both. Neither of them are good people -- they got blood on their hands. Just be a good person, turn them both in, and just move on. It’s be the best thing I did, and the best thing you can do.” 

Jinyoung looks down at his feet, hates himself for considering this. But he can’t help it -- he needs to survive, he  _ wants  _ to survive. He always wanted to live in peace, somewhere calm, somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could dream, and though now he wishes he could live that with Jaebum, even Mark, he still wonders if he could forget them. If he could forget this life. 

“I’ll think about it,” Jinyoung says, finally, and looks up at Doyoung. His eyes are wide, though they don’t look worried, just amused. He’s looking past Jinyoung, and when he follows his gaze, he finds Jaebum a few steps from the kitchen. His eyes are dark, they look angry. Without a word, he starts limping back to the hatch, makes his way downstairs. 

“I think you already made your choice,” Doyoung says before the kitchen fills with the sound of his cooking.

 

 

Downstairs, Jinyoung finds Jaebum in the room. He’s dressed, though his shirt is entirely unbuttoned and only hangs on his frame. He still looks broad, still looks sturdy. The muscles of his chest gleam with a light layer of sweat, as does his stomach, and every time he messes with the gun in his hands, his body seems to shimmer in shades of gold. From the short distance, Jinyoung notices how tense Jaebum’s jaw is, how all his features have hardened. 

Even when Jinyoung steps inside and closes the door behind him, Jaebum doesn’t look up. He looks focused on the gun -- unloading it just to reload, playing with the cartridge, feeling it between his fingers, as if testing the weight. As if he’s never seen a gun before and Jinyoung tries to pretend, too. Tries to pretend he’s never seen Jaebum like this, tries to pretend that everything that’s happened outside of the room doesn’t exist.

“Jaebum,” he says, “It’s time to go.” 

He grunts in response. “I’ll be up there.” 

“Jaebum,” he starts again, fights the urge to have his voice stray, to have it fall into silence, “How much did you hear?” 

At this, he stops playing with the gun. He keeps it loaded, keeps it cocked. “I heard enough.” 

“I can explain.”

“Really? How are you going to explain that away, Bambi? Are you going to lie again? No, better question, how much have you lied?” 

“Jaebum, that’s not fair--”

“What’s not fair? I brought you in, Bambi. I brought you into my world, but don’t forget I can take you out of it just as quickly.” 

“I don’t want to leave,” Jinyoung says, tries to say more but his voice breaks in his throat. Shards of sound linger in there, come back up as a whimper. 

“It sounds like you do,” Jaebum responds. He goes back to messing with the gun. “Either way, do what you want. You win, Bambi. You can have everything you ever wanted. Congratulations.” 

“No, no -- Jaebum, I want  _ you. _ ” He says this quiet, as if admitting it to himself but Jaebum just snorts. 

“You were always so funny, Bambi.” 

“I’m being serious, Jaebum. Listen to me, I want you -- I-I wasn’t faking it. What we had, what we still have -- I need you.” A beat later. “I love you.”  

Silence sweeps through the room. Jaebum brushes a finger over his gun. Then he looks at Jinyoung and his lips twist into a smile. 

“Oh, Jinyoung,” he says, “Loving someone gets you killed these days -- I should know.” 

Jaebum stands, smiling still. But it isn’t the smile of before, it isn’t warm, it isn’t familiar. It’s cold -- as cold as metal, as cold as guns before they’re used. Jinyoung watches him move across the room, feels their shoulders crash when Jaebum pushes past him. 

Then Jaebum is barking orders at Hyunjin and going upstairs while Doyoung yells at him that they’re all leaving. 

He thinks they say more, but he can’t hear it over the thumping of his heart. It beats loudly, in his ribs, in his stomach, and in his ears. 

It sounds broken.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that took so long if anyone follows me on twitter,, they know i was on a trip (follow me @jjpsbf)
> 
> but here it is!! 
> 
> one more and it's done, and i can start uploading other stories. also, if u want to read more from me and don't mind cute fluffy fics then check them out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepijr/pseuds/pepijr)!
> 
> thanks for reading loves

Upstairs, everyone migrates around the house. Jaebum orders Yugyeom and Hyunjin around, while Doyoung watches from the couch, and all their voices blend together so that it feels like stepping through a cloud of sound. Jinyoung can’t make sense of any of it, but it lingers around him, thick in the air, leaking into his ears. The world looks blurry, too, but when Doyoung walks up to him and rests a hand on his arm, he realizes his eyes have been tearing up. 

“Are you okay?” Doyoung asks and Jinyoung blinks away the tears, nods. It takes a second to find words, and another for them to rise, hot in his throat, as hot as flames. 

“Yes,” he says, “Let’s go.” 

“Okay. Here, this is for you.” 

Doyoung hands him a gun and Jinyoung’s fingers tremble when he takes it. Heavy, cold, he wants to never touch another gun, wants to be miles away from any of this but he has to hold on for another hour, maybe two. He looks up and Doyoung smiles at him, and Jinyoung’s heart hurts. He doesn’t deserve the sincerity. 

Then Doyoung leaves to the kitchen again, comes back with two more guns. 

He hands one to Yugyeom, the other to Jaebum. 

“Try not to kill any of us,” Doyoung says and Jaebum just stares. First at Doyoung, then at Jinyoung. His gaze isn’t entirely dark, but holds small glimmers inside. Like the shining edges of blades. It cuts Jinyoung open. 

 

Doyoung drives and Jinyoung sits in the passenger seat. In the back, they fit Yugyeom between Hyunjin and Jaebum. The car is small enough that each of their breaths — from Hyunjin’s careful breathing to Jaebum’s silent huffs — mingle in the air, crowd together so that it feels stuffy and hot and Jinyoung finds himself listening. He wants to untangle the breaths, wants to trace one back to Jaebum. Wants to follow it into his chest, find out the inner workings of his heart, but he’s doomed to just catching glimpses of him in the mirror. 

Jaebum looks anywhere but him. He runs his finger along his gun, glances out of the window, even winces when he shifts a little in his seat. It reminds Jinyoung of all the injuries Jaebum has had to face. He wonders which has been the worst, the most painful, and for a second he imagines a life where he could ask Jaebum about them all. He imagines a life where he’d never lied in the first place and they could talk openly, honestly, about anything or nothing and he wonders if Jaebum would love him there, in that other world. He looks at Jaebum in the mirror again, with a scratch on his cheek, his hair laying flat and limp and then his gaze finds Jinyoung’s. They look at each other for a moment, Jaebum unflinching, unkind. When he looks away, Jinyoung is suddenly sure he wouldn’t love him, not in that world, not in this one.

Jinyoung swallows, and for a while that’s the only sound in the car. It seems to echo endlessly in Jinyoung’s ears, layering over each other until he’s scared of his mind drowning in the sound. Right when he’s about to scream, Yugyeom speaks.

“I knew,” he says and everyone looks his way.

“I knew,” he continues, looks frantic as he turns to Jaebum. His brows push together and his eyes pool with worry. Even his words seem to scurry up, almost tripping, almost falling as if climbing with nervous limbs. “I knew Jackson was going to make a move — I thought me and Youngjae could handle it. I-I didn’t know someone else had a hand in it.”

Silence rushes in and Jinyoung can no longer hear anyone’s breath. If the scenery outside weren’t sliding by, Jinyoung would be sure time is standing still, and it still feels that way. Everything is stuck, the seconds jammed, the minutes sticking to each other like tangled wire. 

Then Jaebum says, “Pull over.”

Doyoung keeps driving, so Jaebum starts to yell, “Stop the fucking car!”

Doyoung prickles, seems to stiffen for a second, but he doesn’t budge. He keeps his foot on the pedal, his hands on the wheel so Jaebum leans forward and puts the gun to the back of his head.

“Fucking pull over,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His head is leaned forward so that shadows cling to his eyes, make them look endless, and his jaw is tense and cocked out and there isn’t a single shiver in his arm. There is no hesitation, no wonder, and Jinyoung goes cold in his seat. 

Doyoung rolls his eyes and sighs, but the car starts to slow, then stops at the side of the road. Jaebum pushes the door open, pulls Yugyeom out behind him. The door slams closed and muffles the sounds, but there’s no mistaking the sound of Yugyeom yelling. His voice stutters sometimes, and dull thumps punctuate each pause. Jinyoung doesn’t dare to look, and neither does Doyoung. Only Hyunjin looks outside, his hands shaking.

Slowly, each yell sounds more strangled, even sounds wet — as if Yugyeom were gargling. Only the light murmur of his sobs remain after a while, like tiny drizzle after a storm. It almost sounds peaceful like that, just a noise poured into his ears, nothing more sinister than water.

Jaebum gets back inside the car and says, simply, “Drive.”

The car starts again, the tires begin to turn, and a few meters away, when Jinyoung looks in the mirror, Yugyeom is nothing but a crumbled set of limbs on the side of the road, trembling and bloody, growing smaller with each second.

 

Jinyoung is still dazed by the time Jaebum speaks again. The air hasn’t softened, remains tense, makes it hard to breathe, but Jaebum’s voice has an ability to cut — he’s known that since the beginning. It demands attention, not by volume, but by its precision. Each syllable pierces the air, each sentences slices it so that his voice slips neatly into ears. So that people are cut open, and so that they bleed fear. 

“Did you know?” he asks, and for a second Jinyoung’s heart skips. Even this accusation is better than silence, and when he turns to catch him with his eyes, he realizes Jaebum isn’t talking to him. Hyunjin is looking at Jaebum, shaking his head, still shaky from before but Jaebum doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to care.

“I asked a question — did you fucking know, too?!” 

Hyunjin shakes his head again, lifts up a hand. His lips part to speak but no sound comes out. 

“When I ask something, answer me with fucking  _ words _ .” 

Jaebum grabs Hyunjin by the back of his hair, points his gun at him with the other one. Hyunjin makes a startled sound — he looks so scared, so young, so helpless, and he still resembles Jaebum enough that Jinyoung strains against his seatbelt, almost climbs into the backseat. 

“Jaebum!” he yells, suddenly confident, suddenly aware that Jaebum is a monster; at least this Jaebum, this hurt, panicked Jaebum; at least the Jaebum that has replaced the old one he knows, the one he loved, “Leave him alone! Just stop!” 

Without letting go of Hyunjin, he turns to Jinyoung, raises the gun to point at his forehead. 

“Don’t fucking yell at me,” he mutters and Jinyoung stands his ground. His eyes sting with tears, but he manages to hold it back. Manages to hold his breath, to be resilient, to stare back into the endless dark of Jaebum’s eyes and search for the man who cherished him. Who adored him. He must be in there, he thinks, must be fighting his way out. All he needs a push. 

All he needs is to be saved. So he stares at this Jaebum, a stranger to him — dangerous and dark — and he hopes he makes the right choice when he says, loudly, “Shoot me. Go ahead, shoot me.” 

He expects Jaebum to break, for the cold in his eyes to pull apart like ice and for it to melt. He expects warmth to rise, like flowers pushing through thin coats of snow. A miracle in the dark. 

But Jaebum just stares back and pulls the trigger and the gun clicks and all the blood in Jinyoung’s body goes cold. His eyes widen, his lips pull open, and he stares, breathless, confused, and scared. Instead of Jaebum, it’s him that breaks — first his heart, then his bones, then the rest of him follows, as if all his senses were returning to him. 

Jaebum lowers the gun, but by then Jinyoung is sitting in his seat, facing forward, still halfway stunned and Hyunjin’s sobbing paints the air, as does Doyoung’s laughter. 

“You thought I would give a loaded gun to a criminal?” he asks no one in particular. 

Jinyoung sinks deeper into his seat, deeper into the question of whether Jaebum knew it was loaded or not. Whether Jaebum hates him enough to kill him without a second thought. 

Jaebum knows the difference in guns, part of him thinks. Jaebum knows it isn’t loaded, he knows the difference, but another part of him tells him differently. Another part of him tells him to run, to flee. It tells him Jaebum is a shitty person, has always been, always will be. Slowly, it feels like he’s tearing at the seams, slowly coming apart. 

Then Hyunjin’s crying grows more distant, and even the sound of the car speeding down the road, of the motor churning quietly, becomes an echo of what it is. Silent, as if he were underwater, seeing things from far away. 

And, sunken in the seat, everything he knows, everything he’s sure of, starts to come undone. 

 

They arrive in silence. The car slows next to a road lined with private beaches, the engine cuts off. Doyoung, looking excited, slips out of the seat, slams the door, and Jinyoung follows close behind. Each of his steps sinks into the sand as he tries to keep up. 

“Taeil will be happy to meet you,” Doyoung says, looking back at Jinyoung with bright eyes. He has to wonder how Doyoung remains so vibrant and happy, but he figures it’s because none of these are his problems. He’s just helping an old friend, nothing more. He doesn’t have to worry about his safety, about what tomorrow brings. He doesn’t have to worry if someone he loves is being honest — he had escaped the life, now lives enveloped in quiet. 

He envies Doyoung, but he’s happy for him. At least some people get their happy ever after. 

Next to a two-story beach house is a smaller building, closer to the beach, more like a shed. Doyoung walks in its direction, his steps growing faster and faster the closer he gets. Then he pulls open the door, says, “Taeil, Jinyoung’s here.” 

Jinyoung, tired from the walk, still catching up, watches Doyoung pause at the door. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t shiver. Slowly, though, his composure unravels. First he shakes his head, unhurried, as if answering a question. Then his knees shake, and soon he’s lunging forward. 

Panic shoots through Jinyoung, and he almost leaps across the sand, loses both shoes in the process. Barefoot, he steps on the single wooden platform, pulls open the door. 

Doyoung is on the ground, his body shaking with each sob that bubbles in his chest, runs up his throat. He’s on his knees, Taeil in his arms. He’s cradling his head, and that’s when Jinyoung notices Taeil’s hands at his side — curved and stuck like claws — and the line of blood along his chest. 

He barely has enough time to register the scene before he hears grunting outside. Still high on adrenaline, he turns, ignores every ache in his body to run outside. 

In the distance, Jaebum and Mark are struggling, but Jaebum is too weak to hold his own. In a few punches, he’s down, and even from this far away, Jinyoung hears him grunt. His body shakes for a second, seems to sink in the sand, and when Mark stands over him and points a gun to his head, Jinyoung yells, starts to run. 

Mark turns briefly, but it’s enough time for Hyunjin to tackle him from behind. His small hands grasp the gun, and they struggle over it. They roll around in the sand, then a few shots fire off in the air, in no direction in particular. Then, closer now, he hears a small snap, watches Hyunjin’s body go limp and Mark rises to his feet. 

He brushes off the sand from his shirt, inspects his gun, then tosses it to the side. He looks up at Jinyoung, now stepping slowly toward him. 

“Baby,” he manages to say through a smile before Jinyoung throws a punch to his jaw. 

Mark doesn’t fall, but he stumbles backward. He lifts a hand to touch his lips, to check for blood, before he looks back at Jinyoung. He no longer smiles, just scowls but Jinyoung has grown used to it. He used to think his anger meant that Mark  _ cared _ for him, that he worried for him. Wanted only the best for him. But now all he sees is a bitter, spoiled child. All he sees is the past. 

He leaps forward to throw another but Mark is faster, and with two hits to his skull, and a knee to his stomach, Jinyoung topples over, lands on his back. 

“I liked you better scared,” Mark says, kneeling down so that his knee presses right under Jinyoung’s chest. He has trouble breathing and making sense of anything other than pain, but he manages to raise an arm. It falls back down, his hand crashing against the send, when Mark punches his skull again. Then another time, then another, until stars light up the side of his vision, and Jinyoung feels dizzy, barely lucid. A small trickle of blood starts to pour from his nose, and when he smiles, the shape tastes like blood. 

“Fuck you,” Jinyoung says. 

Mark sneers,  “You were always fucking annoying.” 

He spits in Jinyoung’s face and he closes one eye, feels the wetness against his forehead. Then Mark lifts his fist again, and Jinyoung is sure this is the last moment he’ll spend alive. 

The sand pushes up against him, slips into every crevice, into his clothes. It feels soft between his fingers, almost makes him forget about the knee digging into his ribs, about the pounding in his skull, the way his entire body seems to bleed, the way his bones ache. He almost forgets about the broken thing in his chest that still beats, regardless of his wishes, regardless of his future. 

It’s fitting, he thinks, to die by Mark’s hand. Oh — he had kneeled before him, placed his entire being in his palms. He wanted to be used, wanted to help, wanted to be everything Mark would ever need. 

He smiles again, welcomes what comes. 

Just as Mark lowers his fist, he topples over. It’s all a blur, though he makes out the shape that crashes into Mark — Jaebum. 

Mark falls on his side, but gets up quickly, and Jaebum, holding his side with one arm, limps after him. 

It’s painful to see Jaebum battered and bruised and bleeding all over still fighting for himself, for Jinyoung, or for whatever inspires him to keep standing even after he sways back. Mark punches him, and Jaebum stills for a second, then spits out blood to the side. Then, without expression, without sound, he lunges forward. Jaebum slams his skull against Mark’s and they both tumble to the ground, both dazed, trying to grab each other’s necks, trying to gain the advantage. 

Once they crawl out of his sight, Jinyoung heaves a sigh, then, with the most pain in his ribs, his legs bruised beyond what he can handle, he gets up slowly. He shouts when he rights his knees and stands and heads to where Mark has pinned Jaebum to the ground. He has his hands clasped around Jaebum’s neck, and Jaebum’s short fingers are digging into Mark’s skin.

Jinyoung lifts a hand and kicks Mark in the head. It seems to hurt him more, though, because as soon as Mark hits the ground, he scrambles to get up, while Jinyoung struggles to remain standing. Jaebum takes a sharp inhale, then coughs up blood to his side, manages to sit up somehow. 

He looks at Jaebum, gazes at him. Somehow he keeps going — he must not be human, Jinyoung thinks. Or he must be committed. For a second he dreams that Jaebum is just set on taking him off the island, alive and well, sidled up to him. And though he knows Jaebum hates him, the idea still makes his heart flutters. He, too, becomes committed to the future he comes up with himself. The future he invents to survive this one. 

Mark heads his way and Jinyoung gets ready for the worst but a deep voice makes everyone stop.

“That’s enough.” 

They all look towards the small house where Jackson has emerged. Doyoung walks in front him, his cheeks wet with tears and his arms behind his head. Jackson guides him forward. When they’re close enough, Jinyoung notices the gun pressed against his head. Jackson holds another one, points it in their direction. 

“You three, line up,” he says, pointing to Jinyoung, to Jaebum, and the slump of limbs Hyunjin has become. 

Jackson notices, then corrects himself. 

“Line up next to the dead boy. Come on, hurry, or your friend here dies, too.” 

Jaebum can barely sit up, much less stand, but Mark grabs a fistful of his hair and props him up. Then he pushes him forward, and right before Jaebum can fall on top of Hyunjin, Jinyoung is there at his side, sidled up, propping him up with his own body. They look like towers after an earthquake, shaken and torn, barely up, leaning on each other to remain standing. Jinyoung wraps Jaebum’s arm around his shoulder, holds him as best as he can, bites back the pain. 

Then Jackson kicks Doyoung towards them, and he stands next to Jinyoung and Jaebum. 

“Wow, Jaebum. I never thought I’d see you like this,” Jackson says, smirking, but Jaebum doesn’t react. His eyes are closed, his head hangs, and Jinyoung wonders if he’s even conscious. He takes slow breaths and Jinyoung feels them against his side. His whole body seems to wrap around his breathing, clinging to it. 

Doyoung stands still, but Jinyoung glances down and notices his fingers are shaking — trembling at the edges and twitching. 

Mark is smiling next to Jackson, beaten, bruised, but shining. He wipes some blood from his lip with the back of his hand. 

“What’s next?” he asks Jackson. 

“Well,” Jackson says, grinning as he always has, unabashed, unapologetic, “We just have to decide who dies first. I’m thinking this one.” 

He points his gun at Jinyoung, lets it sway form side to side, as if still deciding.

“He’s always been Jaebum’s favorite.”

His finger rests against the trigger, and Jackson looks evil, almost demonic. Mark beams at his side, and Jinyoung closes his eyes to avoid the hellish sight. 

He holds his breath. Beside him, Doyoung does, too. 

And that's when the sirens start wailing. 


	8. Chapter 8

After a year of dating, of knowing Jaebum in the most intimate of ways -- after months of studying him with the calculating gaze of hate, and even more through the careful eyes of adoration -- he still manages to surprise Jinyoung. 

A few weeks ago, the surprise had been a ring, an expensive twisted white gold with a blue stone asleep at its center, that was presented to him while he was still in bed, on his stomach, his legs spread and thighs still wet with both of their cum. Jaebum had disappeared and Jinyoung had been left to wonder about the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure crowding around his hips, the warm way in which he felt alive, so aware of the soft sheets beneath him, the light breath of air from the ceiling fan that brushed against his skin. Jaebum had reappeared, held his hand, spread his fingers, and Jinyoung watched as he slipped on the ring on his index finger as if Jinyoung were the most precious thing he would ever hold. Without a word, he kissed the back of Jinyoung’s hand, then each finger, then, finally, the ring, and only then did their eyes meet. Love struck him, he knows now, but not as a soft, lovely thing, but as lightning, electricity that made him doubt both of their intentions. Static that drowned out every voice in his head, that emptied him of thoughts, of reason, so he could pretend for a few more hours without guilt, so that he could let Jaebum pick him up and carry him to the bath; let him bathe him, clean him with his fingers just to be fucked again a few steps away from the tub; let him believe that their night would last much longer than it did. 

A few days ago, the surprise had been this vacation, not the outing itself but the sight. Even after so much training, Jinyoung had never left the country for long, and nothing like this, with the beach right outside their window, with Jaebum dressed in expensive clothes, his jacket draped over a chair, his chest framed by the blue, silk shirt with most of its buttons undone, Jinyoung's fingers already busy undressing him. He’d wondered what would happen if Mark never came, if their vacation would never be disturbed, if he could stand naked at the balcony until the sun finished setting and he could go back inside where Jaebum was waiting. 

Today, the surprise is that Jaebum can still move, somehow. He knows Jaebum tolerates pain well, that he’s familiar with it, knows it well, holds it easily, but the way he stands upright, suddenly lucid and aware, is inhuman. The sirens make all their heads turn except Doyoung, who reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a knife. He takes a step forward, and Jinyoung watches the blade glimmer before Doyoung buries it into Jackson’s neck. 

Blood leaks in small spurts, like a fountain just starting to work. By that time, Jaebum is upright and aims a fist at Mark’s head. Mark turns just in time for it to smash against his jaw, and as Jackson topples forward, his fingers clawing at his neck, Doyoung leaps for Mark. 

He hears a snap, or thinks he does, when Doyoung pushes Mark down and pulls his arms behind his back, keeping the rest of him down with a foot. 

And though the sirens are much closer, and he can see people gathering at the edge of the beach, rushing towards them with their guns raised, the sound of a motor comes in behind them. This sound is rougher, more insistent. It demands him to turn around and when he does, he sees Youngjae on top of a small boat. Someone else is driving as Youngjae hops off and runs down the pier and towards them. Before he has time to process it, Jaebum is tugging him along, set on meeting Youngjae in the middle.

“They’re not going to let you leave like that!” Doyoung yells, but Jinyoung is no longer in control of himself, or of anything. It’s almost like he’s watching himself be dragged, floating nearby, a ghost interested in the action unfolding. Youngjae pauses and Jaebum turns Jinyoung around to face him. His grip on his arms is firm, and Jinyoung zeroes in on it, anchors himself on the touch -- not rough, surprisingly, but firm. Just what he needs, he thinks: a steady place to rest his head. 

“You’ll need money,” Jaebum says and takes off his rings, shoves them in Jinyoung’s pocket. Then he takes off his chain and shoves that in there, too. 

“That should keep you afloat,” he says, though his voice is low, almost like a growl, as if even his voice has been fractured. His eyes, though, are lively, clear, like he has a plan. And he does, Jinyoung realizes, when Jaebum leans forward and gives him a kiss that tastes of blood, a kiss where his tongue swipes against Jinyoung’s lips -- the last lick of desire -- and their breaths mix, hot and desperate. 

“You’ll be taken care of,” he says, “I promise.” 

His voice is heavy with finality, like a final note marking the end of a tune. Like the dying melody on a piano, echoing in an empty room. 

Then he steps back and nods at Youngjae and then there are hands on him, pulling him back towards the boat, pulling him away from Jaebum. 

It registers all at once -- Jaebum stepping away, watching Jinyoung flail onto the boat, his lungs full of sound that won’t escape. And when it does, it comes out as “no” -- an entire storm of them, each time louder, filling the air, fighting against the sirens in the distance. 

“No!” he yells when Youngjae keeps him down as the boat starts to move. He tries to jump over the edge but Youngjae holds him by the collar, tries to calm him down but it’s useless. The boat keeps moving, the space between them keeps growing, and no matter how many times he yells Jaebum’s name, no matter how much he screams for them to stop the boat, to let him jump off, at least, and die instead, Youngjae keeps a firm grip on him and Jaebum keeps getting smaller and smaller. 

After a while Youngjae hands him binoculars, and through tears Jinyoung has to see Jaebum on his knees, his hands behind his head. Then he stands and someone takes his arms, handcuffs him behind him. Then they push, gently, and lead him towards the crowd of cars littering the edge of the beach. 

He recognizes Doyoung’s shirt and nothing else, and the further they get away, the less he can see until all that’s in his sight, even with binoculars, is just a pale strip of the beach. 

Only then does he stop yelling, and only then does the pain in his throat settle. It’s sore and raw and he curls up on the edge of the boat and sobs, lets all the tears come out, lets them clean him, cure him. As they come to the surface, so do the possibilities -- maybe Jaebum will meet them at their destination, maybe someone will break him out, maybe Doyoung and him hatched a plan he didn’t know about. 

Maybe he’ll return, now, on the trip, but the hour keeps unfolding and there is no sign of him. 

He cries again, this time silently, even if he knows Youngjae is watching. He cries until he feels empty, until his eyes burn, until his nose has run and his lips are cracked and flaky. He licks them and Youngjae hands him some water, and for a second everything seems alright. This is the sun, these are the waves, this is the sound of freedom coming his way. 

This is what he wanted, he thinks, but it isn’t, not really, not when Jaebum is miles away, not when he isn’t sure of what the future will be, either for Jaebum or for him. So he curls up again, but instead of crying, his body trembles, as if he’s cold. The tremors rise and fall in different parts of his body -- first it’s his hands, then his feet, then his chest, then his back fills with spasms until, finally, the only shaking is his heart, fearful in its cage of ribs, singing like a frightened bird. 

And then he remembers the jewelry, and as if trying to summon Jaebum, he pulls them out, one by one, lays them out on the edge of the boat in front of him. He rests his head against some rope, and goes through each piece carefully. 

One ring has Jaebum’s name engraved, another boasts a fat diamond. A third has stones lining its width, and another is shaped into a simple design of a coiled snake. When the rings are done, he turns to the necklace. 

After a year of dating Jaebum, all he knew about it is that he never took it off, that it must be something precious. He knows there’s nothing else like it, that its oval shape and palm tree engraving had been made especially for Jaebum. 

What he finds out, though, is that it opens. Studying it, running it over his fingers and remembering each time it had trailed down his skin, unbearably cool as it followed the trail of Jaebum’s warm kisses, something clicks and it opens like a treasure. 

There are two pictures, one on each side. They are no bigger than his thumb, but these, probably, had been made to fit. The left picture looks old, and a young Jaebum sits in a woman’s lap. Even in such poor quality, she’s beautiful, and Jinyoung takes a moment to study her and to wonder how Jaebum, the most dangerous person he’s ever known, is able to love, despite all the violence.

Or perhaps he loves because of it, because of the gore, because of the blood. Maybe he, too, needs balance. 

The right picture takes his breath away, and he never really gets it back. In better quality is a candid picture of him, lit in blues as he studies an aquarium. This is from their earlier dates, he knows, because he remembers smiling at how big the aquarium was, about how lovely the fish were, remembers laughing at Jaebum for even having one at all. He remembers Jaebum taking pictures, but not much else -- there had never been a mention of them, or proof they had ever been taken until now. 

He has to wonder how long it has been there, how long Jaebum has been so dedicated, but just the thought makes him want to cry. Unable to, he simply trembles again, lightly, his stomach cramping and his chest squeezing as if he were sobbing. Slowly, his body calms down and exhaustion settles in. Slowly, he falls asleep curled up in the back of the boat with the sun warming his cheeks. 

He dreams of a hallway with a door at the end. He walks to it, not rushed or excited, but light on his feet. He has no weight, and it feels like floating. There are windows at both sides of him, but he doesn’t look -- something tells him not to.

The door creaks open and he steps through. On every side of him is an aquarium, and at the end of the room, existing only in deep indigos and light blues is Jaebum, smiling. 

“You’re late,” he says, then turns, points, “Look.” 

And Jinyoung turns to his right at a school of fish. Jaebum stands up and they both walk up to the tanks until they’re awash in their light. The tanks seem to have no end and the water looks vast, endlessly blue. 

"It never ends," Jaebum says and Jinyoung smiles, closes his eyes, lets Jaebum take his hand as he says what's been hiding under his tongue for so long. 

"I love you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adlfkj i had been setting this up for a sequel... ever since like chapter two i'm sorry asldfkj


End file.
